


So We Follow the Feeling

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Shiro (Voltron), Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Frottage, Getting Together, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Rutting, Scenting, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: When Keith goes into his first ever rut after years thinking his Human biology would stop any Galra mating habits, he issues his mating Invitation, an evolutionary quirk for Galra alphas that brings their mates to them. Unfortunately for Keith, everyoneexcepthis chosen mate seems to be responding to his Invitation.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 581





	So We Follow the Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Fic request for an anonymous requester who wanted to see me finish a wip I had for a sex pollen fic. Naturally, it's evolved a bit beyond that-- including omegaverse and what I was tentatively calling a 'reverse sex pollen' fic idea. Now, it's kind of more omegaverse, but with some xenobio thrown in for some alien pheromone shenanigans. 
> 
> Thanks so much to [Hiro](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero) for your encouragement on this fic!! And thank you eternally to [Sunday](https://twitter.com/SundaySEternal) for reading this over for me! You are the best! ♥

It’s twenty minutes into the morning meeting and Keith feels like everyone is staring at him. 

He’s not the one presenting today, and he hasn’t done anything that feels particularly egregious or attention-grabbing, and yet he can feel the way people keep glancing over at him. He’s checked his reflection in his PADD at least twice just to make sure he doesn’t have something on his face, has run his tongue over his teeth to double-check that there’s nothing stuck in them, and he’s even looked over his shoulder to see if maybe there was something behind him capturing attention instead. 

But no, there’s nothing. And yet every time he looks up, he finds someone staring at him. Honestly, Keith isn’t sure how that can even be possible when Shiro’s at the front of the room, presenting the Atlas’ findings on inter-galactic potato-farming. Shiro’s the only person in the entire universe who can make that sound riveting, and Keith doesn’t just think that because he’s in love with the guy. Shiro is just naturally charismatic. He knows how to make even the most boring subjects sound amazing. Plus, he looks really nice today— hair sweetly styled, standing poised with his back straight, his new prosthetic arm with its vein-work glowing faintly blue with Altean alchemy, a smaller adaptation from the floating model. 

Shiro glances up mid-way through an explanation about proper soil ph levels and even though he doesn’t smile, Keith sees the warmth light up his eyes. Shiro is the only person Keith knows who actually smiles with his eyes, and it always makes Keith feel squirmy in the best way possible. 

Keith rests his chin in his palm, elbow on the table, leaning forward and not wanting to take his eyes off Shiro. Today, Shiro’s scent is honey-sweet and delightful, although Keith tries to respect the privacy of those aboard the Atlas by not focusing on their scents too often. 

It’s impossible to ignore Shiro’s. It always smells so nice. 

Meanwhile, for all the attention he pays Shiro, he can feel the weight of other people’s attention on him. He doesn’t understand it. Shiro is right there, being effortlessly charming and handsome, and yet people are looking at him instead. 

It’s been that way for days now, if Keith’s honest. He first started noticing it at the start of the week, and it’s only gotten worse since then. At first, Keith thought he was being paranoid, but he hasn’t been able to shake that itchy-skin feeling of eyes on him.

He tears his gaze away from Shiro to glance around the meeting table. Usually when he does that, anybody who is looking at him quickly darts their eyes away. Not so today. A cadet near the end of the table is just _staring_ at him, looking a little slack-jawed. Keith narrows his eyes at him and even that’s not enough to sway him away. And it’s not just the cadet, either— a few of the lieutenants around the table, a few Olkari messengers, a Blade of Marmora, and even Allura are all looking at him. 

Keith shifts in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. He turns his attention back towards Shiro, who’s moved on from the discussion of Terran-style potatoes and transitioned to Altean sweet potatoes. They, apparently, require far more water intake and are therefore not viable options for cross-planetary travel. 

“Altean potatoes can’t adapt the way our Altean friends can,” Shiro says with a grin, winking at Allura— although Allura is still staring at Keith and doesn’t notice. 

Keith laughs at the joke, at least, although nobody else does. Keith kind of wants to murder everyone for not giving Shiro the attention he deserves.

Shiro, at least, doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of attention. He smiles pleasantly and flips through his slides, showing projections for growth rates based on the planets in question, downright chipper as he discusses cross-pollination. 

Keith feels a little embarrassed that he sighs when Shiro says _cross-pollination._

Keith is very comfortable with his pining, honestly. It’s been years at this point, and it doesn’t ache the way it used to. Shiro is everything to him and that’s never going to change. He knows this. He’s grateful for it. He knows he’s important to Shiro, that they’re best friends, and that’s what matters. Still, sometimes, the wistful sighs will punch out of Keith. Apparently, the word ‘cross-pollination’ on Shiro’s lips is enough to make Keith feel heartsick. 

Maybe that’s why everyone’s staring at him. Maybe he’s doing a bad job of hiding how horrendously in love with Shiro he is. 

“Alright, everyone,” Shiro says cheerfully as he wraps up his presentation. “Let’s keep all those factors in mind as we move forward. Next week, we’ll have better numbers to tell if we want to go with Yukon Gold or Purple Majesty. We’ll also have Colleen’s report on proper soybean management to help supplement growing configurations.” 

Colleen blinks, tearing her eyes away from Keith to look at Shiro instead. She nods but looks distracted— like she has no idea what Shiro just said beyond her name. 

Shiro flips off the presentation materials and dismisses the meeting. Keith stands, stretching a bit until he hears a pop in his back before approaching Shiro. Usually, as soon as a meeting is called, everyone filters out to go on with their day or go to a new meeting, but everyone lingers today. It makes it a pain in the ass to get to the front of the room to stand at Shiro’s side. He almost elbows someone in the gut as he moves because they don’t back away fast enough. 

Shiro blinks at everyone as they linger. “Oh, ah… Dismissed? Good job today, everyone.” 

It’s a sluggish departure, but at Shiro’s insistence, the room starts to empty until it’s just Shiro and Keith. Keith crosses his arms and leans his hip against the table, watching Shiro collect and organize his notes and electronics, slipping them into his bag. 

“That went okay, didn’t it?” Shiro asks Keith with a small smile. His scent blankets over him, little notes of curiosity and exhaustion. 

He does look tired up close. There are heavy bags under his eyes and his collar isn’t as pressed as it normally is. Keith’s fingers itch to straighten it for him. Keith hates how much Shiro overworks himself, how he works himself to the bone and then still takes on more than he needs. 

“Yeah,” Keith says.

“It’s just… people seemed distracted today,” Shiro says, frowning thoughtfully out at the empty room. 

So it wasn’t just Keith noticing it. He’s reassured to know he’s not just being paranoid, but that raises the question as to why people were just staring at him. It also means that everyone drifting during his presentation will be just another thing for Shiro to internalize as proof of a shortcoming that doesn’t exist. It’s everyone else’s fault if they don’t pay attention to Shiro, not Shiro’s failure to capture attention. 

“It’s been a long week,” Keith says. “I thought you did a really good job. And I don’t even like potatoes.” 

Shiro gives him an indulgent look, torn between entertained and perplexed. His scent spikes with amusement and it makes something churn in Keith’s belly. 

“Who hates potatoes?” 

“Me,” Keith says with a sniff, only somewhat overdramatized in his haughtiness to get a laugh from Shiro. “If I wanted to eat a starch, I’d go with rice.” 

Shiro’s smile widens. His delight always makes him unspeakably handsome, boyish and sweet in a way that makes Keith’s heart twist in his chest every single time. He’ll never get used to it. He never _wants_ to get used to it. 

Keith steps back from the table as Shiro finishes packing his things and they wordlessly start moving together towards the exit. 

“You’re right it’s been a long week,” Shiro says with a sigh. “Hoping to get some rest this weekend when I visit my parents.” 

Keith hums as they make their way down the hallway. A few heads snap around to stare at him, but he tries to ignore it, feeling his cheeks glow pink with embarrassment. What he has to be embarrassed about, he isn’t sure, but the direct attention is a little unnerving. Keith’s never really associated attention on him as anything positive. 

“Will you actually rest, or will you spend the whole weekend working?” Keith asks. 

It took Shiro’s parents several months to convince him that he could even take one weekend off to come visit them in the next state over, and even then, Keith suspects Shiro will squirrel away work to do. 

“I’ll rest,” Shiro says but he doesn’t sound convinced himself. He laughs self-deprecatingly when Keith rolls his eyes. “You could always come with me, if you want. Keep an eye on me.” 

“I’m not going to crash your weekend with your parents,” Keith says, ducking out of the way of a group of three cadets who just come to a sudden stop, staring right at Keith. It means some fancy footwork to avoid knocking into Shiro, but Keith manages it. 

“You know you’re always welcome. My mom likes you,” Shiro says.

“She doesn’t know me! We’ve only met once,” Keith says, face turning red. 

Shiro doesn’t mean it the way he sounds— the suggestion that Keith come home for the weekend with him to hang out with his family. 

He doubts Shiro’s parents could even remember him, and even if they did from the one time they met, it can’t be an overly positive thing. That was before Kerberos when Keith was a prickly, stand-offish teenager who only cared about Shiro. He wasn’t exactly a people person back then. Not that he really is now, either, but he can at least make good company when he needs to. 

Shiro laughs. “I just mean, it’s always an open invitation, yeah? It’d be fun to just spend a weekend together.” 

“You make it sound like we never hang out,” Keith says, once again dodging around a group of lieutenants who stop and stare at him, heads swiveling around to follow after Keith with their eyes as he passes. 

Shiro actually notices this time, brow crinkling as he looks over his shoulder, staring back at the crewmembers who continue to stare blatantly at Keith. Keith isn’t looking at them now, but he feels their gazes prickling at the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know why everybody’s staring at me today,” Keith says and sounds petulant. He looks up at Shiro, feeling insistent even if there’s no reason he should have to defend himself.

Shiro frowns thoughtfully, eyes sliding back to Keith. He pauses, and then he smiles, that warm smile that lights up his eyes. “You’re a pretty guy, Keith. Of course people would look at you. I’m almost insulted it’s taken them this long to notice.” 

Keith’s entire face bursts into flames and he sputters. It makes Shiro laugh, even when Keith elbows him hard enough to send him swerving away, nearly hitting the wall with his opposite shoulder. 

“Shut up,” Keith says. “I don’t want anybody thinking I’m pretty.” 

Shiro hums, looking away. They’re coming up on their diverging paths, Shiro to head off towards the new recruits for training and demonstration of escape techniques, and Keith to help Hunk program some flight-sims for the Blades to train on Atlas tech. 

“Will I see you before you take off this evening?” Keith asks. Shiro’s scheduled to take a mini-flyer from Atlas out towards California to visit his family. Keith is used to and fully capable of spending time away from Shiro, but he does like the chance to say goodbye. 

“I think so,” Shiro says. He smiles. “If you’re free, we could do dinner before I go?” 

“I’m always free for you.” Keith smiles up at him, then remembers to not look quite so moony. He coughs, glancing around, and crosses his arms. “I mean. If it isn’t going to put you off schedule.” 

“I’m always free for you, too, Keith,” Shiro says warmly. He claps Keith on the shoulder, squeezing tight. Just as always whenever Shiro touches him like this, Keith feels like he’s blooming— like a sunflower turning towards the sky. He looks up at Shiro with a helpless smile to find Shiro already beaming back at him. “I’ll see you then,” Shiro says and lets go with one last squeeze. “Don’t work too hard.” 

“That’s what I should be saying to you,” Keith laughs, taking a step back towards the turbolift that’ll bring him down to the sim-level. He sighs, hating to pull his eyes away from Shiro. “See you soon, then.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, watching after Keith with a sunny smile, waiting there until the doors slide shut with Keith within the elevator, Shiro’s soft expression the last lingering image. 

Keith takes a deep breath, still smelling the lingering presence of Shiro’s scent all around him, wrapped up like a well-loved coat. He turns his face, pressing his nose down against his shoulder where Shiro’s hand rested just moments before. He closes his eyes and inhales, flooding his senses with _Shiro_. 

He’s never actually done that before and it doesn’t occur to him to find it strange. 

-

Keith successfully works through the sims with Hunk, valiantly ignoring the way Hunk just _stares_ at him the whole time. He makes his way back towards the mess hall to get dinner with Shiro, once again ignoring all the people who literally stop in their tracks to stare after him. He eats dinner with Shiro and laughs and teases and pines as he always does, ignoring the soft din of murmurs around them. He walks Shiro down to the hangar and hugs Shiro goodbye, wishing him a safe trip and a good time with his parents. The hug lasts longer than it usually does, and Keith feels too warm, wanting to push his nose up against Shiro’s neck and stay there forever. He lingers in the hangar even after Shiro has successfully launched, sighing and thinking that, despite his scolding of Shiro’s exaggerated work ethic, he’ll probably just use this weekend to catch up on long-neglected work. 

The universe might be saved, but paperwork never rests. 

Keith knows something’s definitely wrong when, on Saturday, he heads to the training rooms and gyms to get some sparring practice in before returning to his work. 

People stare, as they’ve been doing for the past couple days. Keith’s not used to it, but it’s quickly becoming a new normal. He blushes to think of what Shiro said— that people would notice he’s pretty— but Keith isn’t interested in others noticing him like this. 

It’s not the staring that undoes him. Now that he pays attention, the scents are inescapable— all around him, he can only smell pleasure, _desire_ , and it’s unsettling. It’s nearly cloying, overwhelming enough that Keith feels like he might get a migraine just from the smell alone. 

He swallows a mouthful of water from his hydration pack and flushes up to his ears, trying to ignore all the pinpricks of eyes upon him. He feels himself bristling, all that nervous energy coiling around inside him. 

“Excuse me,” a little voice says behind him, “Commander, sir—” 

“What?” Keith asks in nearly a snarl, agitated and distressed. He whips around to glare at the cadet who’s standing far, far too close to him, and doesn’t feel guilty when she gives a little peep of surprise.

But instead of backing off at Keith’s growl, her eyes only widen and her face flushes, and her scent _drenches_ around him, thick with desire. It’s suffocating. Keith’s nostrils flare and his shoulders hitch up towards his shoulders. 

“Wh—” 

“Commander,” another cadet says, and he literally drapes himself against Keith’s back, arms snug around his waist. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith says and pivots, throwing the cadet off his shoulder so he stumbles back towards the first cadet. “What the hell—” 

He can’t breathe around the scent of arousal crushing down around him, wide-eyed cadets and pink-faced lieutenants all staring at him, creeping closer towards him. Keith’s skin feels like it’s crawling, burning where cadets reach out to brush their fingertips over his bare arms. 

He elbows his way out of the crowd, making a quick exit from the gym before it can escalate, but his heart is a hummingbird in his chest and he has _no idea what’s going on._ He runs fast enough that even the crewmembers in the hallways who see him can’t say anything, don’t even get the chance to really stare. 

If Shiro were here, Keith would run to his quarters and hide out there, horrified by the casual touches, the disgustingly spicy scent of desire. 

He goes for the next best thing, seeking out one of the Paladins, any of the Paladins. He finds Hunk and Pidge in the thick of a discussion on the merits of Balmera hyperdrive versus Olkari hyperdrive, which is as nonsensical a topic as it is welcoming. Keith slams into the room and punches in the override code in the door to keep random people from finding him. He’s not sure if he’s being chased or followed, but he’s not in any particular mood to find out. 

“Keith?” Hunk asks, all honeyed concern as he takes in Keith’s state of distress, panting as he leans back against the door. 

“People are acting _weird,_ ” Keith says with only the deepest feeling. 

His two friends blink at him, their eyes unwavering as they stare at him— and it is that particular brand of staring, Keith realizes with a sinking amount of dread. Of course. Allura was staring at him too during the meeting yesterday. Hunk was staring yesterday, too. 

He smells when Hunk and Pidge’s scents change. “Guys,” Keith says, still trying to catch his breath, “I have no idea what’s going on, but—” 

Pidge’s brows furrow and Keith watches her face turn pink just as her scent slices through with desire and _distress._ “Ew, Keith,” she says, ripping her hand back to press against her chest when she starts reaching for him. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m not doing anything!” 

It’s definitely distressing to see Pidge staring at him like she wants to eat him. Pidge, who very distinctly and proudly has zero interest in men of any sort. And now she smells like she’s moments away from jumping Keith. 

She covers her nose and mouth with a grunt of displeasure. “What sort of weird alien shit are you doing?” 

Hunk, meanwhile, drapes his arms over Keith. While the touch from random cadets left Keith totally distressed, jerking away, Keith’s gotten used to Hunk’s hugs. Even in this context, he doesn’t instinctively jerk away, letting out a breath as Hunk hugs him. 

“Keith, bud, I don’t…” Hunk says, sounding uncertain. He shoves back from Keith with effort, clasping his shoulders tight. It feels nothing like the way Shiro touches him or hugs him. 

“I know,” Keith says, looking between the two of them. “I have— I don’t know what the hell is even going on. Just everybody all of a sudden—” 

Hunk clears his throat, completely red-faced, and backs up a few steps. Pidge catches him by the arm and keeps him in place. They both stare at Keith pressed against the door. The room is thick with the spice of pleasure, twinged with the oily-slick scent of confusion and dissatisfaction. They don’t want to feel this way, Keith realizes, and they’re aware enough to know it’s not a normal feeling. 

“I have no idea how I’m doing this,” Keith says. But it has to be him, he thinks. It doesn’t make sense that everyone else aboard the Atlas would suddenly be acting strangely and he’s— not. 

Shiro wasn’t acting strangely yesterday even when everyone else was, though. Keith’s brow furrows, trying to remember if anybody else wasn’t staring at him. Keith’s always been good at ignoring the way people stare, never associating it with anything good— he’s good at compartmentalizing. He’s good at ignoring and pretending that he is ignored in turn. 

Hunk’s pawing at Keith’s shirt sleeve. He looks incredibly unhappy to be doing so. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, pushing Hunk’s hand away. He feels flushed all over and he can smell his own embarrassment in the air— he’s just grateful that Humans can’t smell the way Galra do, can’t comprehend all the clashing scents mixing in this little room. 

“Figure it out,” Pidge says, scrubbing her hands over her face, rubbing at her pink cheeks. “This is weird, Keith.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” 

“Ugh, what even is this?” Pidge says, yanking up her turtleneck to cover her face entirely. “Ew, I can’t stop thinking about you? Stop that!” 

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” 

Pidge grumbles some disparaging words. Keith can practically hear their heartbeats beneath the cloying blanket of their scents— elevated alongside the darkened eyes, the heightened desire for touch. Pidge’s mention of Keith invading even her thoughts is, of course, alarming. 

“You should go to medbay, right?” Hunk says, hands twisting together as he stares at Keith with that unyielding intensity. 

Keith thinks of what that visit might look like— trying to speak with the med team as they all stare at him and paw at him. He shakes his head with a crinkle of his nose. He already has a hard enough time with the med team when it comes to navigating his hybrid biology. They’re still figuring the first Human-Galra combo out and they’re making good progress, but—

“Is this some Galra biology… something?” Hunk asks. “I meah, uh— I don’t know.” 

Keith scrubs his hand over his face, rubbing his nose against his wrist, trying to focus on his own scent as a grounding mechanism. He wishes he could still smell Shiro lingering on him, the way he always does whenever Shiro hugs him, whenever Shiro touches him. Shiro’s scent is always a comfort. Keith just wants to smell like him all the time. 

Keith tries to think. “Maybe?” 

“It has to be! Why else would I be thinking about you naked all of a sudden?” Pidge says and gags. She yanks down her turtleneck again to glare at Keith, slapping her hand back over her mouth. “How much do you know about Galra biology?” Pidge asks, voice muffled around her hand. “Like, in general?” 

“I mean… enough?” 

He did have a horribly awkward sex talk with his mom while on the space whale, an unfortunate consequence of witnessing one’s own conception via memory bursts. He’s no expert, but he knows the basics. Sex tends to be pretty universal, somewhat literally, when it comes to the bare bones. 

“Keith, go to fucking medbay,” Pidge grumbles. “Get out of my goddamn head.” 

Keith blushes. “I don’t—” 

“Or call your mom?” Hunk asks. 

“I’m not calling my mom,” Keith says, frowning, his scent swelling with embarrassment. 

“Shiro, then?” Pidge asks, swiveling around and reaching for her PADD. “He could—”

“We are _not_ calling Shiro!” Keith barks, shoulders hitching back up towards his ears. The last thing he wants to do is interrupt Shiro on his weekend off with his family, to tell him that a potentially weird, potentially Galra-biology related incident is going on. “Maybe, it’s just— maybe,” Keith says, “this is just… people noticing me for the first time—” 

Pidge’s look is withering, and the small excuse dies in Keith’s throat. No, Pidge’s heated gaze doesn’t fit Shiro’s theory that ‘Everybody Is Just Noticing Keith is Pretty’. 

“You just need to figure out if it is you and what you’re doing so you can turn it off,” Pidge says, rubbing at her nose again. “Call your damn mom.” 

Keith is definitely not going to call his mom.

-

His mother calls him. 

Keith stares at the caller ID on his PADD and curses Pidge’s name with everything he is. He takes a steadying breath and picks up, dropping down to sit on the couch in his quarters. He looks morose and his mom doesn’t even need to be here to smell his scent to know it. 

“Hi, Mom,” he says. 

“Hello, kit,” she says, expression soft. It’s the expression she wears when she’s near him, the one where she smiles with her eyes more than her mouth. “Your friend messaged me—” 

He’s going to throw Pidge down the trash chute when he sees her next.

“—and said that I should reach out to you,” she says. “Are you sick? He said that you might be.” 

Hunk then. He’s going to throw Hunk _and_ Pidge down the garbage chute. Dirty bunch of betrayers. He can only hope they didn’t message Shiro, too, because the last thing he needs is to explain all this to Shiro while he’s supposed to be relaxing. 

Keith scratches his nails at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture, and feels his face turn red. His quarters smell like his embarrassment, thick with it after hours of stewing. He’s been in here ever since he ran from Hunk and Pidge’s staring, dodging around others and holing up. If he has a say, he’ll stay in here forever, or at least until this whole thing passes. 

He can’t imagine what he’ll do if this starts to escalate. He still feels skeeved out by random people touching him, by the weight of so many eyes on him. 

He bites his lip. His mother makes a soft croon, low and nearly inaudible, the type of thing a good Galra alpha will use to soothe their kits. Keith’s cheeks turn redder still. When his mother first made these sounds on the space whale, Keith hadn’t even realized what it was, why it was that such little sounds could smooth out all his frayed edges instinctively. 

“Kit,” his mom says, looking worried now. Keith doesn’t need to scent her to know she’s distressed by his silence. “If you’re unwell, you—” 

“I don’t know if I am,” Keith says, tugging on his hair, hands hooked around the back of his neck. He hangs his head, sighing out. Even stuck in his room, around the twisty scent of his embarrassment, he can smell desire beyond the doors. It’s giving him a headache. “Something— weird is happening, Mom.” 

“Tell me?” 

Keith does, nearly too embarrassed to give details beyond the basics. Krolia listens with a furrowed brow, arms crossed over her chest as she leans in closer, studying Keith’s face. His mother always regards him with such scrutiny, but in the context of this day, it feels almost distressing rather than reassuring. 

When he finishes, a silence lapses between them. Krolia frowns, humming thoughtfully. 

“Keith,” his mother says not unkindly but with that brutal, unflinching way of hers: “It sounds as if you are issuing your Invitation.” 

Keith frowns. “What?” 

“We have spoken of it,” Krolia says. “When a Galra comes of age—” 

The sex talk again. Keith bites back an embarrassed groan and shakes his head. “B- but you said— you said that I wouldn’t do any of that stuff because I’m Human.” 

“I said it was _likely_ you would not,” Krolia says, “because you present so Human and you never showed these tendencies during our time on the space whale. But this was always a possibility.” 

She keeps frowning, one hand lifting to the back of her neck in a mindless gesture. Keith can’t even be pleased that he has the same nervous tic as his mother because the information is too much to dissect. 

“So, if… I’m Inviting,” Keith says, heart withering in his chest. “I’m basically going into heat?” 

“We call it a rut,” his mom says. 

“That doesn’t make it much better.” 

Krolia’s smile is a sympathetic one, if a bit uncertain. Keith can’t imagine she’s thrilled to be doing the sex talk with Keith again. Then again, she might appreciate the opportunity to mother him— she never says it, never forces it, but Keith knows she enjoys it when Keith trusts her with such things. 

Maybe a small part of Keith is grateful to know he can have these talks with his mother, some sort of horrible rite of passage. Every child is meant to be embarrassed by a sex talk at least once, right? 

“We’ve discussed how your father’s influence might have unknown effects on you,” Krolia says. “You have the increased scent, as a Galra does, and the vision.” 

“As far as I can tell,” Keith says with a nod. “I’m not sure what else.” His mouth wobbles. “I don’t know what I don’t know.” 

“It is strange, though,” Krolia says with a nod. “The Invitation should only work on one’s chosen mate.” 

Keith blushes. “What do you mean?” 

“When a Galra alpha is looking for a mate, they’ll— instinctively call to them. Invite them to come closer. The mate will respond in kind. I’ve never heard of an alpha inviting indiscriminately.” 

“Maybe a playboy,” Keith mutters.

Krolia’s brow crinkles in confusion. Keith doesn’t have the heart to explain to his mother what that particular Terran slang means. 

“I don’t have a mate, anyway,” Keith says.

Krolia gives him a look that’s downright withering. Keith coughs, looking away and biting the inside of his cheek. Keith knows he’s not about to fool his mother when it comes to Shiro— she saw all those memories just like he did on the space whale.

“Have you spoken with your companions who are also half-Galra?” Krolia asks. “They might have insights.” 

Keith knows he’s never going to ask Zethrid or Ezor anything about this. He could potentially message Acxa. Even if she isn’t half-Human like him, there might be some insights. But the idea of messaging her to talk about sex is the most mortifying thing he can imagine. 

“I’m not asking them about this.” 

“Humans are very secretive about their sexual practices,” Krolia says. There’s no judgement in the words, just an observation. The Galra aren’t exactly verbose when it comes to their sex, but Keith can admit that he’s likely being overly cagey in his mother’s eyes. 

“Anyway,” Keith grumbles. “If that’s really what’s going on, I just have— a really loud Invitation that makes everybody horny. Great.” 

Krolia makes a soft crooning sound again but Keith doesn’t want to be soothed, not about this. He crosses his arms, his leg jiggling as he bounces his foot on the ground. More nervous gestures. 

“It’ll pass, right?” he asks his mom.

Krolia is silent for a beat too long. Keith doesn’t think that can bode well. 

“The rut is meant to be shared,” Krolia says at last. “It is… painful to be alone.” 

Keith knows this already, but the confirmation is not overly reassuring. He feels like he’s about to wither up and die, curled into a ball of embarrassment and displeasure. 

“It’ll be okay,” Keith says before the silence can stretch. “I mean, I know what to do in theory. Um. Since we talked about it… kind of.” He blushes deeply. “Maybe I can just get a sedative to last me for— however long this will take.” 

Krolia does not look reassured. “I can get in contact with Blades’ outposts for anyone with half-Galra medical knowledge. While they won’t know the Human element, it might bring some insights.” 

Keith nods. He’s not overly optimistic. This, apparently, comes with the territory of being the literally only half-Human Galra hybrid in the universe. 

“It might be a factor of your Human blood changing how the Invitation works,” Krolia says, “although I admit my knowledge of Human reproduction is…” His mom mercifully does not finish the thought. She shakes her head. “Your Invitation has taken time to manifest, so it’s possible it’s simply making up for lost time.” 

“And so, I’m just pumping out pheromones that make everyone want to fuck me,” Keith grumbles. 

“So it would seem,” his mom says flatly and Keith’s grateful that the Galra are so chill with sex because otherwise he’d probably perish having said such a thing to his own mother. “It’s meant to be a mild encouragement for one’s mate to reciprocate, mingling their Invitations. That others aboard the Atlas are reacting might mean yours is potent.” Krolia pauses. “You’ll start to feel its effects, too.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Krolia hums. “As a rut progresses, you will become more single-minded on completing the rut, and being with your mate. It will be painful to be separated.” 

He’ll just want to fuck Shiro mindlessly, then. Keith remembers this horrible discussion from the space whale. The reminder isn’t a welcome one— it’s not as if anything has changed. Shiro isn’t on board the Atlas, but it wouldn’t matter even if he were: it’s not like he’s about to issue an Invitation to Shiro that he’d accept.

Shiro wasn’t reacting to the Invitation yesterday. The thought occurs to Keith like a slowly cresting wave, crashing over him with brutal lack of care. Shiro wasn’t reacting. Everyone else was, but Shiro wasn’t. 

Keith bites his lip. “What does it mean when a potential mate refuses the Invitation?” 

His mom’s face is answer enough even before she speaks the words and Keith feels the twist of anxiety deep in his gut. “It is… painful.” 

Keith sighs, slumping. “… I’m going to ask the med team about that sedative.” 

-

Medbay does not give him a sedative, but that’s only because the team of five all try to pet his hair at the same time. Keith makes a quick exit and locks away in his room after that, sending a distressed message to Hunk to please leave him some food outside the door. 

He stares at himself in the mirror when he washes his face in a vain attempt to cool down. He looks flushed, his eyes dark. Keith spends a long moment staring at himself, trying to envision what it is that others are being made to see— an unyielding, relentless attraction, responding to Keith’s Invitation with desire and pleasure, even if involuntary. 

_You’re a pretty guy, Keith,_ Shiro had said. Keith fiddles with his hair and then splashes more water on his face, feeling like his mouth is full of fangs and the world is too bright with scent. 

Later, his mom sends him a list of supplies he should get before he deepens into his rut. Keith appreciates that she doesn’t insist on him speaking with Shiro, on trying to mate with Shiro despite the pain of a partnerless rut. 

Shiro will come back late tomorrow night, and Keith’s determined to spend the next twenty-four hours just camping down and waiting for it to pass. 

As if sensing Keith’s thoughts, his PADD chirps with an incoming message. It’s just a selfie of Shiro with his parents as they stand together in his parents’ kitchen, working on making a meal together. _Wish you were here!_ Shiro writes beneath the photo with a string of emoji. 

Keith’s heart melts despite himself and he’s sure he’s making a frankly embarrassing and moony expression at his PADD. His quarters smell like the crisp apple scent of affection. 

Keith looks around his room for something he can take a photo of in turn, as is their typical ritual— whenever Shiro sends Keith a selfie, he sends an answering photo. And vice versa. 

There’s nothing that exciting about his room that he can show Shiro, and he’s not about to take a picture of himself when he looks half-wild with an oncoming Galra rut. He’s not sure if Shiro would be able to tell that something was wrong with Keith, but Shiro is perceptive and observant. Keith doesn’t want to take the risk of worrying Shiro. 

He takes a picture of his feet up on the coffee table— mismatched socks and cuffed pajama pants— and writes, _About to watch a movie for the night so I don’t pull a you and do paperwork instead._

Shiro’s response is instant, another string of emoji that Keith can’t decipher. He does not overanalyze the sparkly heart stuck between a ghost and a pear emoji. Shiro has a tendency to use random emoji because he thinks it’s funny and properly conveys a whimsy and love of the spontaneous. 

Keith clicks open the photo of Shiro with his parents, his heart going soft again. The photo is off-center and slightly crooked, but Shiro is grinning, a smile mirrored on his dad’s face and that same amusement mirrored in his mom’s eyes. Keith’s fingertips brush down the line of Shiro’s jaw and he feels a warmth flush through him. 

He sets the PADD aside and stares at his feet, curling and uncurling his toes. He takes exactly two seconds before he reaches for the PADD again, clicking open that same photo and staring at Shiro’s smiling face. 

He opens up the list his mom sent him— but closes it quickly when he reads the first item on the list: _Sexual item to help with release._

It’s going to be a long weekend. 

-

Keith spends the evening feeling miserable but wakes up having dreamt of Shiro. He often does— both his dreams and his nightmares featuring Shiro in some way. 

This morning, when he wakes up, he’s hard. 

That isn’t completely abnormal after pleasant dreams of Shiro, but it feels strange in the context of a growing rut. When Keith focuses, he can feel it building inside him. He knows the stories from his mom about an alpha rut— the single-mindedness, the potential for possessiveness, the desire to mate, to protect, to possess. 

His mother recognized such protective tendencies in him based only on two memories with Shiro. The rest only confirmed her thoughts on it, of course, and there’s nothing to deny— with his entire history with Shiro stretched out on the space whale, the protective nature of an alpha sheltering his mate is obvious, even in the innocuous moments like Keith marching to Shiro and insisting that he share the story of what he’s hiding. _I’m not a kid!_ Keith had said then, and the alpha protectiveness was obvious especially in the overt moments— like Keith breaking into a government facility in order to save Shiro. 

Saving Shiro, again and again. He’s done it several times over since the space whale, too. 

Keith palms his cock absently through his leggings, unsure if the erection will flag. His room smells like him but what he _wants_ is Shiro. He’s halfway across the room before he realizes he’s done it, hunting around for something that smells like Shiro. 

There’s nothing, of course. It’s been several days since Shiro last visited Keith’s quarters. 

Keith realizes he’s pacing, stalking around back and forth, like he might wear a line down into the flooring. He growls at nothing, the absence of Shiro making his skin itch. Everything smells too much like _him_ , and not like Shiro. 

Shiro isn’t an alpha and he’s not an omega— he’s just Shiro, and Keith loves his scent. He loves the way it brightens around him, how Keith can smell him lingering even once he’s gone. And it does brighten, the way Shiro brightens when he sees Keith.

Keith rubs at his nose, growling low in his throat. It’s some sort of rut-sickness making him think this, he assumes. Shiro’s scent doesn’t change around Keith. Shiro smiles at Keith the way he smiles at so many others, he’s sure. 

Shiro didn’t react to the Invitation. Keith needs to keep reminding himself of that. 

Maybe his Invitation has become loud enough that, once Shiro returns, he’ll hear it. He’ll respond to it. He’ll come to Keith. 

Maybe that’s the only reason he isn’t here yet. He just doesn’t know. It isn’t that Keith has been rejected, isn’t that he’s an unworthy mate, it’s just that Shiro hasn’t heard him yet.

Keith growls, pacing in earnest. 

He’s aware that he’s hard, has been aware of that since he woke up, and he touches himself absently from time to time, closing his eyes and imagining that he can smell Shiro. There’s nobody here but himself, but he feels the longing for Shiro grow. Shiro, his mate. 

Not his mate, he reminds himself in the quiet part of his brain that still feels rational. He pushes his hand beneath the waistband of his leggings and grips his cock. He closes his eyes, growling a low croon deep in his chest. Not his mate. 

Shiro _could_ be his mate. If he accepted Keith’s Invitation. 

A growl rumbles through Keith’s chest. He breathes out through his nose. He squeezes his cock and thinks of Shiro’s gentle eyes, his kissable lips curved into an inviting smile. How he’d touch Keith, holding him close in his arms, wrapped all around him. How good it’d feel, to nuzzle at Shiro’s throat, to rub his scent all over his skin, and know it was welcome, wanted. How good it’d feel to fuck into Shiro, to flip onto his stomach and lift his hips to let Shiro fuck into him, in turn. 

Keith braces one hand against the wall, grunting as he rocks into his hand, nothing absent or tentative about the way he moves. He fucks his hand and pretends it’s Shiro, pretends that it’s Shiro he leans against, Shiro who’s touching him. It doesn’t feel real, not when he can’t even smell Shiro. It’s only miserable alpha scent all around him, no Shiro. 

“Shiro,” he moans as he squeezes his cock, stroking too quickly. No, Shiro would be slower, gentler, more patient. 

Keith has no patience. He jerks himself off and comes across his fingers, slumping against the wall and moaning. He inhales sharply but only smells himself. 

If Shiro were here, Keith would protect him. He’d make him feel good. He’d show Shiro all the ways he’s cherished, all the ways he’s precious— Keith would worship him. 

If only his mate would accept his Invitation. 

“Not my mate,” he whimpers to himself and licks his hand clean. 

-

Keith sinks in and out of awareness. He has no idea how much time passes, if at all. Sometimes he’s in his bed, kicking at the sheets and knowing it isn’t _enough_ , other times he’s curled up in a corner, palming at his hardened cock and finding no release. Everything blurs and bleeds together. 

When he blinks back into wakefulness, he’s laid out in his bed, staring at his PADD— the picture of Shiro open on his phone. Keith growls low in his throat, staring at Shiro’s smiling face. The croon is a quiet sound, low and beseeching rather than strictly possessive. He looks at Shiro, smiling up at him, and he _wants_. 

“Shiro,” he whispers and when he breathes, he can almost imagine that he can smell Shiro. It’s like phantom pain, the whispers of Shiro’s scent where Keith knows it isn’t. 

In the picture, Shiro’s hair looks so soft. Keith can’t believe he’s never actually touched it before, never touched Shiro like that— his fingers curling through the silver strands, dragging absently, rubbing at his scalp. It somehow seems absurd, that they could be best friends and yet Keith has never played with Shiro’s hair. He’d be gentle with Shiro, the way Shiro deserves to be treated. He’d put Shiro’s head in his lap and pet his hair for hours. 

There are so many ways he’s never touched Shiro, and it feels like such a loss. He and Shiro are close. Shiro is his best friend, and yet Keith has never touched his hair. Shiro’s hair, his lips. They’re best friends and yet Keith’s never kissed him. He’s never let himself feel the hard planes of Shiro’s back, nails dragging. He’s never known how he’d feel pressing Keith down into the mattress, or how he’d look sprawled out beneath Keith. Shiro’s eyes must look different when he’s aroused; he must make the sweetest sounds as Keith takes him apart. Keith wants, bewilderingly, to kiss Shiro’s ear. 

He’d be gentle with Shiro as he bestows the mating mark, he knows it. Keith would be sweet. He’d make Shiro sing as he bites into his skin and marks him as his—

“Not my mate,” Keith reminds himself, mumbling it into the mattress. 

He can smell Shiro all around him and it shouldn’t be possible. He closes his eyes and inhales, smelling Shiro beneath the unsatisfying scent of himself and his arousal, his rut sinking into every inch of his room. His room is absolutely drenched in his rut-sick scent. He’ll need to deep-clean once this is all over. 

There’s a knock at his door.

Keith blinks and sits up, his head swimming. He stares at the door in bewilderment, trying to make sense of the sound through the fog in his mind. The knock comes again and Keith’s on his feet, darting towards the door. He can smell Shiro. 

“Shiro?” 

“Hey, Keith!” Shiro calls through the door, and it _is_ Shiro— Shiro’s scent, Shiro’s call, Shiro’s voice. _Shiro._

Keith croons, far louder than he means to, but he’s not sure if Shiro can hear it through the door. He has no idea how much time has passed, but apparently enough for Shiro to have returned. And now he’s responding to Keith’s Invitation, here and willing and calling for him— his _mate._

Keith fumbles to punch in the override code to get his door open, hands trembling in his eagerness. The sensible part of him, the part of him that still is sensible beneath the rut, reminds himself that he doesn’t _want_ Shiro to be affected by this. He doesn’t want Shiro to be bewitched by some Galra Invitation— made to feel longing for him. Under normal circumstances, Shiro would never come to him like this. 

He’ll need to send Shiro away. All his instincts balk at the mere thought, but Keith knows it’s true— he can’t do anything that will hurt Shiro, or make him uncomfortable, or fracture the one good thing in Keith’s life. He won’t ruin his friendship with Shiro simply because alien mating instincts are making him want to fuck Shiro against the nearest surface. 

Keith’s not sure what to expect when he opens the door: if Shiro will immediately touch him, cling to him, his pupils dilating and his stare relentless, the way it was for everybody else aboard the Atlas, or if it will be more like with Pidge and Hunk, a slow cresting as the desire ensnares him. 

Keith hates himself for feeling hopeful— to see, finally, what Shiro looks like when he _wants_ Keith. What changes will be on his face? What does Shiro look like when he desires? Keith wants to see it, despite the pain that will follow to know it isn’t real. He wants to see what Shiro looks like when he’s in love. 

The door slides open and Shiro is there. 

Shiro smiles at him, the way he always smiles at him, and Keith feels the balloon in his chest slowly deflate, weighed down and sinking in his gut. He waits, studying Shiro’s face and watching for the change to overtake him. 

Nothing. 

Shiro tilts his head, unresponsive to the barrage of Keith’s rut scent, to the Invitation pulling his mate towards him, to anything. 

He does study Keith with a thoughtful frown when Keith doesn’t speak. He must see the exhaustion on his face, the flushed cheeks, the disappointment in his eyes. Keith does nothing to disguise it. 

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks, and his words are far too soft with concern. 

It seems that Pidge and Hunk haven’t betrayed him by telling Shiro what’s happening, then. Keith licks his lips and feels his mouth full of fangs and forces himself to nod his head. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Did… you just get back?” He speaks evenly, forcing out each word when everything inside him implores him to jump Shiro. 

Shiro nods. “I wanted to stop by to see you first thing. Just got back a few minutes ago!” 

Keith nods again with some effort, everything inside him screaming to get closer to Shiro, to touch him, to claim him. Shiro is _his_ and Shiro is here. He needs to— but no. No.

Keith breathes in and back out again, staying as calm as he can. “How’re your parents?” 

“Oh, they’re good,” Shiro says, and then grins wider as he holds up a paper bag, swinging it playfully. “I brought some snacks. I know how much you love the stuff from the market.” 

Keith nods, although he’s barely listening. He feels like his brain is all static, sitting and waiting for Shiro to get hit by whatever it is that’s happening with Keith, to make him more touchy, more clingy, more _needy._ If everyone else aboard the Atlas is throwing themselves at Keith, it stands to reason that Shiro should do the same. 

But that moment doesn’t come. 

Keith reminds himself not to be disappointed. The last thing he needs is for Shiro to feel taken advantage of by alien sex biology. Keith swallows a whimper and steps away from the door, making space for Shiro to enter his den— his room, he reminds himself. Not his den. Shiro walks in with the confidence of someone well familiar with Keith’s space, crossing to the counter in the kitchenette and setting down the bag of snacks. 

“I know it’s kind of late, but I was thinking we could have some of these and watch a movie, if you’re up for it,” Shiro says. Keith watches him like a predator waiting to spring. 

His mate, with him in his den, but Shiro shows no sign of accepting the Invitation. There is no answering scent, no answering sounds, no answering Invitation. Shiro behaves just as he always has— kind, generous, and sweet, but just as a friend. Keith stares at Shiro’s back and mourns. 

Shiro really isn’t reacting. 

Somehow, despite it affecting all aboard the Atlas, Shiro is the one completely unaffected. The idea of mating with Keith is so counter to anything Shiro could want that not even involuntary biology can make it happen. Shiro is just Shiro. 

Keith makes a sound. It’s a low, devastated whine that punches out his throat. 

Shiro turns back to him, looking alarmed. “Keith?” 

Keith just blinks at him. 

“Hey,” Shiro says. His brow is furrowed. Keith has worried him, and his gut swims with guilt be such a disappointment to his mate. “Are you really okay?” 

He crosses back to Keith, his hand lifted to touch him. Keith makes that same sound again, a whimper that he can’t even swallow back. The idea of his mate touching him is unbearable and yet it’s all that Keith wants. He wants to be enveloped in Shiro, wants to burrow with him and never let go. 

He wishes he could act normally. Shiro said something about a movie, and Keith just wants to be near him, to be draped in his scent. He’s behaving too strangely. Of course he’d seem strange to his mate. 

Shiro’s scent is sweet, despite the zing of concern coloring the smell of him. It wraps around Keith like a comfortable blanket, well-loved and well-known. Keith doesn’t resist stepping to Shiro, stumbling to him, shoving against him.

“Oh—” Shiro says in surprise.

Keith nuzzles his face against Shiro’s chest, burying his nose against Shiro’s shirt. He inhales sharply. Shiro smells like himself, but also like his parents’ home— like California, like homecooked meals, like his parents. He doesn’t smell like Keith at all. It’s wrong. He should smell like Keith. 

Keith tips up and shoves his face against Shiro’s neck, mouthing against the warm plane of his skin. Shiro sputters in surprise, his arms closing around Keith and holding him in a loose circle. His scent is saturated with the pungent scent of confusion. 

“Keith?” 

“Shiro,” Keith mumbles, his lips ghosting against Shiro’s skin. He feels Shiro shiver and Keith wraps his arms tight around him, holding him, rubbing up against his throat. He mouths at Shiro’s adam’s apple and feels him gulp beneath his lips. He wants to swallow all of Shiro, wants to drape Shiro in his scent. 

“What’s going on?” Shiro asks softly. “Are you not feeling well?” His big hands rest against Keith’s back and it makes Keith shudder. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath in response, surprised. “Hey—”

“I’m okay,” Keith says, forcing the words out. He’s not okay, not as long as his mate is rejecting him. But his mate is right here. His mate hasn’t run away. 

Hasn’t his mate accepted his Invitation by being here? 

Shiro rubs Keith’s back and it’s infinitely comforting. Keith tries not to sink entirely into Shiro. He breathes deep, scenting Shiro— every little note, little whisper of his scent. It’s Shiro, only Shiro, a scent he’d know anywhere. The most wonderful scent in the entire world, really. Nothing can make Keith feel calm quite like Shiro. His presence, his smile, his words. Everything about him. 

Shiro is beautiful. Shiro is everything. 

“Keith, what’s going on?” Shiro asks. 

Keith licks his neck and Shiro startles, his breath punching out of him. Keith can smell the spike of his mate’s shock but no accompanying displeasure, no disgust, souring in its wake. He’s gentle around Keith, enveloping him with his arms and his scent. He’s exactly where he needs to be. Right here with Keith. His perfect mate. 

“Not my mate,” Keith reminds himself in a low croon.

“What?” 

That seems to shock Keith back into himself enough to shove away from Shiro, so quick he nearly stumbles. It’s only Shiro’s hands on him, steadying him, that keeps Keith from tumbling onto the floor. 

Shiro is trying to comfort him, as any good omega should. Keith inhales sharply. No, not an omega. Shiro is protecting him, the way any good alpha would. No. No, Shiro is just Shiro. He isn’t either of those things. 

Keith jerks out of Shiro’s touch and Shiro lets him go, although the concern doesn’t stop coloring his scent. He looks downright confused now, and just on the edge of alarmed. His hands hold out, hanging in the air, like he wants to reach after Keith, to bring him back in again, and god, all Keith wants to do is go back to him, to enclose himself around Shiro, to bring him back to his nest—

Keith doesn’t have a nest, and Shiro isn’t his mate. 

“I really am okay,” Keith says, forcing the words out again. He isn’t convincing in the least and he knows it, and Shiro looks anything but convinced. Keith can’t particularly blame him. “I— something happened while you were gone.”

“What?” Shiro asks, stepping closer. “Keith, please… what’s going on?” 

Keith growls as Shiro comes to him, low and inviting, but Shiro stops at the sound. He looks alarmed, or at least surprised, unsure how to proceed. Shame flushes through Keith, souring his scent. He’s failed. If his mate doesn’t feel safe in his den, how can he expect anything else? 

“Keith,” Shiro says in a murmur. His concern eclipses all else in his scent, drowning it out in the cold wake of a storm at sea. “Did you go to medbay—” 

Keith nods. “It’s… it has to do with me being half-Galra. They couldn’t help much.” 

Shiro’s brow furrows. His hands are still out. All Keith wants to do is touch him, to grasp him, to pull him down onto the bed and fuck him. Shiro’s fingers are so wide and boxy, the spaces between them perfect for Keith to slip his slim fingers between, to fold into him and never let go. Keith’s spent so long imagining what their hands might look like, laced together. 

Shiro would look so pretty with his hands pinned above his head, Keith holding him down easily. At the thought, Keith’s blush climbs his face and he feels altogether too warm. Shiro blinks at him, his own cheeks slightly flushed in turn— an aftereffect of Keith literally licking his neck. 

“How can I help you?” Shiro asks, instead of asking him what’s wrong with him— and Keith’s always loved Shiro, loves him so infinitely, that even his trust stretches to this. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on, only the ways in which he can help. It’s what makes Shiro a good friend, a good captain, and above all, a good mate. 

Keith can do little but drift to him again, crooning low in his throat. Shiro blushes more as Keith nuzzles up against his shoulder, slumping against him. Keith sighs when Shiro’s arms wrap around him, holding him up. It’s an easy gesture, immediate and instinctive, and Keith feels encompassed. 

Shiro takes a step, backing Keith up towards the bed, and Keith makes a low growl of triumph, approving and delighted by his mate’s instincts. Yes, the bed will be much better. He grabs onto Shiro and stumbles backwards quickly, tugging Shiro with him so they both go tumbling onto the bed.

Shiro lets out a sound of surprise, twisting so he doesn’t elbow Keith right in the gut. Keith stretches out beneath Shiro, cushioning his fall and taking the brunt of his weight. And he really is the perfect weight above him, pressing down on Keith’s body. It’s perfect, so perfect, his perfect mate—

“Not my mate,” Keith grumbles.

He knows Shiro hears him this time. He jerks his head up to look at Keith, his expression one of surprise. His scent swells with embarrassment, his cheeks turning red. He looks absolutely bewildered and Keith just wants to lick his lips until he smiles. 

Keith wonders if Shiro can feel that he’s hard, pressed down against him like this in the bed. It’d be so easy to grab Shiro and roll them over, to rock against him, to fuck into him. Shiro’s perfect hand would wrap around Keith’s cock so nicely, fingers snug. He’d help Keith grow into his knot, would take him so well. He’d look beautiful, sprawled out naked in Keith’s den, looking up at him with stars in his eyes, ready to give and take whatever Keith wished to give him. 

“I’ve never touched your hair before,” Keith says miserably before he can swallow the words back. 

Shiro’s brows furrow further, and he’s so handsome even in his confusion. “Keith,” he says quietly. “You look really warm. I think you might have a fever. Are you feeling delirious?” 

His resourceful mate. Keith feels a rush of affection flood through him, knows that his scent is spiking with the spice of his desire and the quieter aroma of his love. Maybe it’s a small mercy that Shiro can never smell him the way Galra can. He’d have betrayed himself and his feelings years ago, if so. His scent is always sweet when he’s with Shiro. 

Keith clenches his eyes shut, trying to will himself into being a functional, capable person. He might be Galra, but he’s Human, too. He can keep it in his pants for two seconds to reassure Shiro and keep him from worrying that Keith’s going insane or about to die from some unknown Galra sickness. 

“I really…” Keith breathes. “I’m okay. I swear, Shiro. It’s— some Galra biology thing.” 

“Biology,” Shiro says slowly. “Okay.” He pauses, biting his lip as he looks at Keith. Keith tries very hard not to shift his hips and jerk up, to slide his cock against the perfect shape of Shiro’s body. Shiro asks, “What does that mean, exactly? Can you tell me?” 

Keith wants to tell him everything. He wants to do everything Shiro could ever ask of him. “It means, I’m… I’m going to go into, uh, they call it a rut.” He cringes. “I mean. I’m already in it, I think. It’s been a weird few days.” 

Shiro goes still above him as he listens. Keith bites his lip, resisting the urge to shift his hips and press his hard cock against Shiro’s body. Shiro looks contemplative, expression thoughtful as he considers and processes the words. Keith can smell the coil of concern saturating his scent. 

Finally, Shiro says, “I… I remember seeing some of the people in the arena go through that.” He pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. It makes the corner of his mouth dimple and Keith wants to bite it. “It always sounded painful.” 

Keith sucks in a slow and steady breath. “It is, sometimes. If you don’t have a partner,” he says, his ears turning red from the force of his blush. “We’re— uh, Mom isn’t sure how mine will go since I’m part Human. It’s making things different so far.” 

Shiro sits up, moving off Keith’s body. The whine Keith makes is completely involuntary and Shiro looks alarmed to hear it, one hand dropping down to touch his shoulder and keep him lying flat on the bed. 

Keith rolls out from beneath the touch, curling onto his side and hiding his face. He tries to swallow back his pathetic growls, feeling empty even with Shiro sitting right there before him. “I’m fine. Really,” he says. “I keep doing that. The growling. It’s not— it’s not anything bad.” 

Keith can smell the hesitancy in Shiro. It’s why it makes Keith shudder in surprise when Shiro’s palm drops to rest against Keith’s back, weighted and perfect. Keith croons, tapering off into a hiccup of a chirp. He only barely resists the urge to arch into the touch. 

“What can I do for you, Keith?” Shiro asks and there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says it. 

Keith clenches his eyes shut, fighting back against the flurry of images the question summons— all the ways Shiro can help him, all the ways Shiro can let Keith worship him. The things he’d do to his mate, the ways he’d make him feel good, always good, always protected and adored. Loved, forever, endlessly. 

His mate did not respond to his Invitation, he reminds himself. His mate is not his mate. 

Keith inhales slowly, focusing on Shiro’s scent, letting it comfort him. Shiro is his friend. He is helping Keith because he is a good man. Keith will not take advantage of that. 

“I just… it’s not so bad,” Keith says. “My mom left me a list of supplies I should use. I don’t know how long it’ll last for, but…” 

Shiro’s already leaning over him, seizing the PADD discarded on the bed. Keith blinks fuzzily as Shiro unlocks it. Keith forgot he’d left Shiro’s picture up on the screen before the screen went dark, and he sees Shiro see it now. 

Shiro’s smile is a little thing, fleeting, a small spike of pleasure bleeding through the concern and worry that weighs his scent down. Keith makes a sound, a low croon.

Shiro turns to look at him, his eyes softening. “Hey… It’s going to be okay, Keith. I promise. I’ll help in whatever way I can.” He frowns, looking off into the middle-distance as he thinks aloud. “First thing I’m doing after this is looking into ways to expand our med team. We should have more medics who understand cross-species concerns, so nobody else has to go through this.” 

Keith smiles up at his mate— so nurturing, so resourceful, so comforting— and watches him minimize the photo and click through to Keith’s messages with his mom, pulling up the list. Keith only remembers his mom essentially told him to find a sex toy when Shiro’s face turns red and he coughs, eyes flicking across the first item on the list. 

“B- basic things here,” Shiro says, his ears turning pink as he studies the rest of the list. “Food, water, comfortable clothes. Um, other things.” 

Keith nods, surveying every little change in Shiro’s eyes. There’s no disgust in Shiro’s scent, only embarrassment and— the twinge of a scent that feels like ice in Keith’s lungs. It’s the chill of sadness rather than the stonewalled ice of resentment, though. But it feels incongruous. Shiro’s eyes dart over the list, lingering on that first item, and Keith watches Shiro closely, trying to assess why his scent should smell like sadness. Shiro’s gaze darts to Keith then flits down to where he’s still clearly hard. 

So he did notice. 

Shiro jerks his face away, clearing his throat, his blush drifting down his neck. Keith wonders how low it goes beneath his shirt collar. 

Keith can’t stomach the lingering twist of sadness in Shiro’s scent. He sits up with the lowest croon, crawling to Shiro. He drifts in close, nuzzling at Shiro’s neck before he can stop himself. He feels Shiro swallow thickly and Keith presses his nose to his skin. 

Keith inhales sharply when Shiro tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat to Keith. 

“Shiro,” he growls, his lips pressing the name like a stamp to Shiro’s neck. 

“Does this help, Keith?” Shiro asks in a low murmur and Keith wants to sink his claws into Shiro’s shoulders, tether him here, keep him here with him forever. His perfect mate—

“Not my mate,” Keith mumbles. 

Shiro makes a sound and it’s a mournful, punched-out noise. He swallows again and Keith presses his nose against the pulse point beneath Shiro’s chin, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, the spike of it. The room smells like the spice of Keith’s desire, suffocatingly Keith’s scent alone, and it nearly crashes over Shiro’s entirely. He wants to focus only on Shiro, but it’s hard to find his scent in the muddy waters of Keith’s rut-scent. 

“Okay, Keith,” Shiro says after a moment, his voice soft as a whisper. He touches the back of Keith’s neck and it makes Keith shudder, wanting to go pliant entirely. Shiro doesn’t know the power he holds over him. 

With regret, Keith draws away, blinking owlishly up at Shiro. Shiro smiles at him, but there’s that cold slide of sadness in his scent again. Keith whimpers before he can stop it, pawing at Shiro’s arms, seeking the reason for the sadness, the ways in which he’s failed his mate— ways he can make it better, make Shiro feel cherished, precious, protected. The way he deserves.

“I’m going to go get you these supplies,” Shiro says, looking down at the list again. “That might be a good place to start. I’m not sure how much—”

“Don’t leave me,” Keith says. He curls his hands tight in Shiro’s shirt, blinking at him, the anchor of anxiety saturating his scent. “Don’t— did I do something wrong? Did I displease you, alpha?” 

Shiro stills, his eyes widening as he blinks at Keith. He’s quiet for a moment and then says, quietly, “I’m not an alpha, Keith.”

“Omega, then,” Keith whispers, even though he knows Shiro is neither. He slides his hands up, cradling Shiro’s jaw. His nails are sharp like claws, but his touch is gentle as he cups Shiro’s face. “My omega, my precious omega— you don’t need to leave. I’ll be good. I’ll be gentle. I’ll make you feel so safe—” 

“Keith,” Shiro says breathlessly, his hands closing around Keith’s wrists.

Keith can only croon, blinking up at Shiro and desperate with it. Shiro’s thumbs are right on Keith’s wrists, right against his scent glands, and it’s _so much._

“I’m not an alpha or an omega,” Shiro says. He bites his lip, his face bright red. His thumbs stroke soothing circles against the inside of Keith’s wrists and it’s torture. He can’t know how much it tortures Keith. Shiro’s smile is gentle, although still sad, and that’s torture, too. And then he says, “I’m not your mate, Keith.” 

Keith feels the stab in his gut on a primal level. He can’t stop the cry that punches out of him, so low and so heartbroken that Shiro flinches. Keith can’t swallow it back down, the heartbreak seeping out of him. 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers, devastated. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”

“Alpha,” Keith says. Shiro squeezes Keith’s wrists again and Keith can only whine. “Alpha—” 

Shiro shakes his head. He strokes his thumbs in those blissful, agonizing circles. His mate touches him like he _is_ his mate, and yet rejects him still. Keith’s primal brain can’t make sense of it. 

Shiro studies his face. “I need to get you more supplies, Keith. This list says that you need more blankets, softer things, so you can make a nest. You’ll feel better if you have something to guard.” 

“Nothing inside it,” Keith says, feeling fuzzy at the edges. “You could be inside it. My omega, you could—”

“Shh,” Shiro whispers, but Keith is anything but soothed by it. “It’s going to be okay, Keith. I promise.” 

Nothing can be okay, though, in the wake of such rejection. Shiro’s eyes are so soft, Keith thinks helplessly. How desperately he’s always loved Shiro’s eyes. He’s always loved Shiro so fully, so cosmically. It encompasses everything around him. Keith whimpers, his eyes feeling stingy at the edges, threatening tears. He just wants to be good for Shiro. He just wants to be everything Shiro needs.

But Shiro does not want him. 

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers.

“I know,” Shiro says, voice soft and so much like an alpha’s croon that Keith nearly shudders. “I know, Keith. I know.” 

Keith flops towards him and Shiro is there to catch him, wrapping his strong arms around Keith and cradling him. It feels at once like it should with an omega, nurturing and sweet, but an alpha as well, protective and shielding. Keith feels like he is both and neither at once, that Shiro is with him and both and neither. Keith can’t make sense of it, why his fuzzed-out brain can see both in Shiro. Maybe it doesn’t matter at all. Shiro is here. Shiro was always just Shiro. Is always just Shiro. 

Keith inhales his scent, letting it wash over him. It’s not as comforting as it should be. “You’re sad.” 

“I’m not,” Shiro murmurs. “I’m worried.” Shiro rubs his back. “I wish you’d told me earlier you weren’t feeling well— I’m sorry I left at all. I should have been here to help you.”

Keith shakes his head. Shiro doesn’t even know what he’s really offering, in the end. 

“You needed to rest. Your family…” 

“You’re my family, too, Keith.” 

Keith shivers when he feels Shiro nose into his hair. He wonders if Shiro has ever touched his hair before this. He can’t remember if he has. He wants to believe he’d remember it, the first moment Shiro might have played with the hair at the back of his neck or dragged his fingers through Keith’s black hair. Maybe this is the first time. He wonders if Shiro likes how it feels, how he smells. He wonders if he’s appealing to his mate. 

“You’re here now,” Keith says. Even if it’s not the way he wants his mate, he’ll always accept what Shiro gives him. He’ll always be grateful for it. 

“I won’t leave,” Shiro says. “If that’ll really help.” 

Keith nods his head, trilling eagerly. He paws at Shiro, drawing him in closer so they’re pressed chest to chest. He croons his approval, nuzzling at Shiro’s jaw. 

Shiro sighs out, gripping Keith tight. “Let me just— I can have Atlas bring things, but I’ll need to focus.” 

Keith growls, drawing away again to look at Shiro’s face. Shiro smiles at him, but the exhaustion is clear. It’s always a mental toll to call on Atlas so directly beyond the idle thoughts they share in their mind-link. Atlas is massive, and a new sentience, and Keith knows how tired Shiro is every time she must transform. 

Keith touches Shiro’s cheek, the impulse to protect, to calm, fueling him onward. Make his mate feel safe. 

Shiro smiles at him, although the licks of sadness in his scent return. He closes his eyes and Keith watches him sink into that mindscape, communicating with Atlas. His scent always goes funny when he does this, like he’s here and not here at once, the wash of the mental link saturating his scent until he smells nearly not-human. It’s always the strangest moment, for Shiro’s scent to turn void. It’s the only way Keith can describe it: empty scent. 

Keith can feel the Atlas shifting around them. It’s one thing to have Atlas transform and rearrange, another thing entirely to have such a massive ship do the smallest details, like collecting soft fleece blankets and food and conveying them to Keith’s room. It’s the equivalent of a giant trying to thread a needle. 

Keith nearly whimpers, guilt and shame swimming through him, but he swallows it back so he won’t break Shiro’s concentration, so he won’t exhaust him further. 

The vent in Keith’s far wall blooms open and, with it, a stack of blankets come tumbling out. On the counter, freshly prepared food slides in through a hole in the wall like a conveyer belt. The room is filled with the soft scents of food and medicine, prepared and brought right to Keith’s doorstep.

His mate has provided for him. Keith waits until Shiro opens his eyes before he trills his approval, a low purr of pleasure. Shiro smiles at him, but he looks sleepy and exhausted, his eyes gentle. He always looks at Keith so gently. Keith remembers to smile back, knows the gesture will mean more than a trill. 

It’d be so easy to tip forward and kiss Shiro. They’re so close. 

Shiro looks away first. 

“Let’s build a nest, Keith,” Shiro says. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“Okay,” Keith says faintly and lets Shiro pull him from the bed. 

Keith stalks around as Shiro collects the blankets, unable to keep from pacing but unwilling to stray too far from Shiro. Shiro is doing his best, although Keith knows he doesn’t know much about Galra biology— not like Keith knows any more than him, truthfully. They carry the soft blankets towards the bed. Instincts insist that he guard his omega as they build their nest, and Keith can feel the need to patrol building inside him. 

“Do you know how this is supposed to look?” Shiro asks. 

He’s so good, too good. He didn’t ask for this— he only stopped by to say hello to Keith after a long weekend away. He must be exhausted, and Keith is being selfish, so selfish. Selfish for wanting Shiro here, selfish for wanting to touch Shiro, selfish for wanting Shiro to accept the Invitation, to at least react to the Invitation. 

“Hey,” Shiro says gently and Keith realizes he’s whining, a low, heartbroken sound. Shiro cups his shoulder. “Hey, Keith, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out and you’ll make the best nest, okay?” 

Keith doesn’t know how to say that it isn’t the nest he’s worried about. His lip wobbles. Shiro smiles at him and he’s damnably reassuring, sweet in his scent. Keith wants to cry for how sweet Shiro always is. His mate is so good to him, too good to him. 

“Not my mate,” Keith whispers to himself. 

Shiro closes his eyes as if bracing from the words. He pulls his hand away and turns, picking up the blankets with a soft clearing of his throat. “Maybe you should just follow your instincts? For this nest.” 

“Okay.” 

Keith takes the blankets Shiro holds out for him. It feels clunky and stupid as he drapes a blanket down over the bed, but as soon as he does it, he knows it’s all wrong. Not a proper way to form this nest for his mate, to make it inviting. It’s supposed to be soft, comfortable, something that would make Shiro feel relaxed and welcomed, make Shiro feel ready to open to him, to pull Keith into the nest and keep him there, to fuck him, to breed him— the nest needs to be perfect, to be something he can protect for Shiro as he sleeps, warm and glowing in the aftermath of their mating, filled with Keith’s come and—

Keith blushes, ducking his head as he starts fiddling with the blankets, stacking them up. They all smell wrong— don’t smell like anyone, but don’t smell like Keith or Shiro. He can make them smell right, if only Shiro would let him. 

After fiddling and fumbling, Keith steps back with a low, disappointed growl as he surveys his work. It’s hardly a nest befitting Shiro. No wonder he can’t find any pleasure in Keith’s den. 

Shiro touches his shoulder, the touch tentative and sweet. “It looks good, Keith,” he says, because his omega is kind, far too kind. “Are you happy with it?” 

Keith shakes his head, lacking the language to describe why it’s _wrong._ He whimpers and feels Shiro’s hand flex, tightening around his shoulder. It sends sparks of pleasure pulsing through Keith, his neglected cock twitching in his leggings. He swallows back the low moan Shiro’s presence always summons up. His scent is almost cloying in the spicy-sweetness of it. 

“How about you try resting?” Shiro asks gently. “I’ll make you some food and—”

“Don’t leave,” Keith whispers, edging closer towards him despite himself. “Shiro—” 

“I won’t leave,” Shiro says, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll be right over there, making food for you. Let me help you, Keith.” 

Keith swallows back the words he wants to say, the praise that will tumble out for his mate— his good omega, his perfect alpha. He whimpers, biting his lip. Shiro’s thumb is a torturous swipe across his collarbone as he squeezes his shoulder again and nudges him towards his nest. 

“Okay,” Keith murmurs, unwilling to disobey any request Shiro might give him. He slinks towards his nest, feeling inadequate and rejected, creeping into the structure. It shifts a bit with his weight on the mattress but doesn’t collapse. It smells wholly of nothing, but that’s better than it smelling like a foreign alpha or omega. He wishes it smelled like Shiro. 

“There you go,” Shiro says, voice soft with his praise. He leans down so he can see Keith inside the nest, his hair falling softly into his eyes before he brushes it away. Keith aches to touch him. “Just relax, okay? I’m going to make some food, message your mom… See what else you might need, okay?” 

“Okay, alpha,” Keith whispers. He swallows his growl, shaking his head. “Shiro.” 

Shiro smiles, hand reaching out and cupping Keith’s knee, patting it once. His hand is so big. “Good, Keith.” 

The praise ripples through Keith. His chest swells with pride and he nods his head. He can be a good alpha for his mate. He’ll do whatever Shiro wants of him.

“I’ll just be over in the kitchen,” Shiro tells him. “You can see me from here, right? I won’t leave. I’m right here, okay?”

“Yes, Shiro,” Keith breathes. 

Shiro smiles again, withdraws his hand, and moves towards the kitchen. The ache opens like a painful maw inside Keith. All he wants is for Shiro to come into the nest with him. To hold him. To let Keith fuck him, to lay worship to him. 

Keith watches Shiro pull away from him and his heart aches. 

-

Keith’s not sure how long he languishes in the nest, staring out at Shiro with undisguised longing. It’s saturated through his entire scent, much as Shiro can’t smell it, and he only barely manages to bite back his miserable grumbles when Shiro remains damnably far away. 

The one solace is that he can see Shiro from his nest. It quells the instincts inside him. His omega is providing for him in his time of need, and he just needs to be a good alpha and guard their nest. He needs to keep it safe for when Shiro returns to him. 

Shiro does eventually return, carrying a bowl of some bland-smelling soup. 

“This will be gentle on your stomach,” Shiro says when he notices Keith’s crinkling nose. 

Keith’s stomach doesn’t hurt, beyond the roiling desire and anxiety swirling inside him, that ever-present _need_ to have Shiro close. He looks up at Shiro and he’s sure he must look pathetic. Shiro’s smile is sympathetic. 

“Eat for me, okay?” Shiro asks, and then pulls up the spoon and holds it out to Keith, as if he’s about to start feeding him.

Keith’s croon is velvet-deep and he jerks forward to close his mouth around the spoon before he can think of it, rumbling his pleasure to his omega. Shiro’s cheeks turn red, but he smiles as he looks down at the soup, lifting another spoonful for Keith. 

He feeds Keith like that, one small mouthful at a time. Keith purrs through it, swallowing obediently and never taking his eyes off his mate, demonstrating that he can be good, that he can be gentle, that he can do what Shiro needs him to do. He can gather his strength and provide. 

He can smell his Invitation now, the way his scent changes, like he’s trying to entice Shiro ever-closer. It’s _loud_ , if scents can be loud, nearly gaudy and ostentatious in its presentation, sparkling with love and desire, flexing with strength and vitality. He can’t even really control it at this point. His scent, his body, his very soul calls to Shiro. Shiro makes him feel any myriad of things, so of course his scent would be full of sparkles for him. 

Shiro smiles at him, unresponsive to the Invitation, and feeds Keith the last of the soup. “There you go,” he says, voice soft with his praise. “Feeling better?”

Shiro’s continued lack of interest in Keith’s Invitation is devastating, and it must show on his face. Shiro sets the empty bowl down and reaches for Keith, smoothing his hands over his shoulders, and the touch is he sweetest torture. Keith whimpers.

“Hey,” Shiro says, his own soft croon, “it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, Keith.” 

He keeps saying that. From anyone else, it would make Keith snarl, make him stomp around his territory and destroy. But it’s Shiro, and Shiro is always too good to him. Shiro means the words. He believes them. 

Shiro shifts closer and it’s the only opening Keith needs to slump in closer, pressing his face against Shiro’s shoulder. He feels Shiro’s hands smooth up his back, soothing and so, so close. Keith closes his eyes, breathing in deeply and just focusing on Shiro’s perfect scent. 

“Your mom got back to me while I was heating up that soup,” Shiro says. 

Keith grunts, not particularly interested in thinking about his mother when he’s thinking about all the ways he can cajole Shiro into joining him in the nest. 

“She said this is normal,” Shiro says. He rubs Keith’s back. “She doesn’t think you’re in any danger, but I should let her know if something changes. You just need to ride it out.” 

“Mm,” Keith hums, turning his head to nose absently at Shiro’s neck. 

Shiro swallows and tilts his head back, just a little. Again, it’s the only opening Keith needs before he starts nuzzling up the length of it, mouthing absently over his skin in soft, ghosting bumps of his lips. He can feel the way Shiro’s breathing changes, the thump of his heart, the softest spike in his scent. It’d be so easy to sink his fangs in, to mark his mate. He’s so pliant and open to him, so trusting. Keith doesn’t deserve Shiro. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, when what he really means is _mate, mate, my mate—_

“Not that I thought you were, but she said you aren’t out of your mind,” Shiro says. “That this only amplifies things for you. Your senses and your feelings.” 

Keith grunts again, lips on Shiro’s throat and feeling the vibration of his mate’s words through his voice box, graveled out but honey-smooth. He feels Shiro swallow, the bob of his adam’s apple. Keith drifts down, licking into the hollow dip at the base of his throat, teeth dragging across his exposed collarbones. 

“I just…” Shiro trails off, blushing. “I wish I could help you more.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, snaking his arms around Shiro’s neck and tugging him closer. He nuzzles at his neck, and then his fingers sink up into Shiro’s hair.

Soft, the way he thought it’d be. He curls into the soft strands, seeking the longer bits he can wrap his fingers around, drown into the touch of it. He makes the softest trill at the feeling, delighted when Shiro takes a deep breath, his scent swelling with surprise and, Keith hopes, pleasure. He tugs almost playfully on his hair, delighting in the soft touch. 

“Shiro,” Keith says again, lower this time. He can hear the husk to his own voice. 

“I’m here,” Shiro says softly. He shivers when Keith tugs again. 

Keith pulls back enough to look at Shiro, meeting his eyes. His fingers drag through his hair, petting it away from his face. Shiro’s smile is gentle, as it always is, the splash of color high on his cheekbones. 

“There, see?” Shiro asks, laughter in his eyes. “You’re touching my hair now, huh?” 

“It’s nice,” Keith says. The words are inadequate, but he doesn’t have the language necessary to tell Shiro how perfect he is, how every inch of him is always perfect. 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

Keith must be making some sort of expression. He sees Shiro’s smile turn far too soft, tilting his head when Keith’s nails scritch along his scalp, pinning his hair back from his face. Shiro doesn’t protest as Keith touches him, fingers sliding. He lets Keith explore the curve of his face, tracing along his jaw, over the shape of his ears— large, cute, Keith can’t help but tug on one and it makes Shiro laugh. He touches Shiro’s smiling mouth with his fingertips and the laughter stills. He watches Shiro’s eyes blink wide, watches him go breathless. He can feel it wisp against Keith’s fingertips, the stamp of his breath against the ridges of his fingerprints. 

“I’d take care of you, Shiro,” Keith says, his voice deeper and huskier than he’s ever heard it before. 

“I know, Keith,” Shiro says, but he doesn’t sound like he knows, doesn’t sound like he even understands what Keith is saying. 

Keith growls low in his throat, feeling the smallest spark of pleasure when Shiro doesn’t flinch away from the sound. He hasn’t even pulled away from the touch of Keith’s fingertips on his bottom lip. He’s letting Keith cover him with his scent. That must mean something. 

“I would,” Keith says, promising. 

He’d take care of Shiro forever. Provide for him however he needed. Make him come again and again on Keith’s knot, make his mate—

Keith swallows, fingers trembling where they touch Shiro’s lips. He draws away, tracing over the scar bridging his nose instead. 

“Shiro…” 

“Do you think you can sleep?” Shiro asks. “You should rest. It’s late.” 

Keith has no idea what time it is. He shakes his head, crooning gently. “You should come in here with me. If you’re tired…” 

“It’s your nest, Keith.” 

“I made it,” Keith says agreeably, staring at Shiro. He made it, yes, but it’s for Shiro. It’s to bring Shiro comfort. “Do you like it?” 

“You did a very good job,” Shiro says. 

Keith waits expectantly and wilts when nothing else comes. He touches Shiro’s chin, his claws a glancing kiss across his skin. 

“Shiro…” 

“I don’t really understand everything about this,” Shiro says with a small smile. “I want to help, but I don’t know if I actually am. I don’t want to do something that will upset you or make things worse.”

An absurd observation, although Shiro has always been one to diminish his own abilities and accomplishments in this manner. He never seems to understand all the ways he’s helped Keith. Even now. Always. Forever. 

His foolish mate. Keith reaches his hand out, petting through Shiro’s hair again, his touch lingering. 

“Your mom said some people can get aggressive during a rut, if you do something wrong. But…” Shiro smiles, shaking his head. “You’re always gentle with me, aren’t you, Keith?” 

“Yes, alpha,” Keith whispers, fingers tangling in Shiro’s hair. 

Shiro’s eyes study Keith. “You should rest, Keith. You will if I ask, won’t you?” 

Keith nods with a low murmur, tugging gently on Shiro’s hair. “Come rest with me, Shiro.” 

Shiro hesitates. Keith can smell the hesitation in his scent, and it makes Keith’s turn sour in turn. His nest isn’t good enough, maybe. He’s done it wrong. He’s upset Shiro, displeased Shiro. He isn’t a good enough alpha for him, or maybe his alpha would want an omega instead. Maybe—

“Shh,” Shiro says. “It’s alright… you don’t need to be upset, Keith.” 

Keith realizes he’s started whining again. He grinds his teeth, nearly pricking his fangs into his tongue, and leaps from his nest. Shiro leans back in surprise, letting loose a soft breath, but Keith only gets down on his knees before Shiro, peering at him. 

“It’s for you,” Keith says finally. He watches Shiro turn red. “For you, always. Shiro.” 

“You want me to stay,” Shiro clarifies and Keith nods eagerly. Shiro licks his lips and it’s completely distracting. Keith tracks the movement of his tongue with his eyes, feeling his heart kick up in his chest. He’s been hard for so long, longing to find some release, longing to lay worship to Shiro. 

He leans forward, closer towards Shiro. His eyes are on his lips. He watches Shiro bite his lip, the perfect pillow of it bending against his blunt teeth. Keith wonders what it’d feel like for Shiro to bite him, the perfect scrape of his canines across Keith’s neck. He wonders what it’d feel like for Shiro to give him the mating mark in turn. 

But he can be good. He can put his mate at ease. He can wait until his mate accepts his Invitation. 

“My nest. It’s yours. Only… only if you want,” Keith says. 

He knows himself, beneath the haze of his rut. Shiro is being a good friend. Entirely too good, entirely too kind. But he’s here as a friend and only a friend. 

“Not my mate,” Keith reminds himself, voice pitched low. No matter how badly he wants, Shiro isn’t his mate. 

“You’re right,” Shiro says and it feels like a bucket of ice thrown over Keith. “I’m not.” 

Keith jerks his head up, his whine so loud this time that it leaves even Keith’s ears ringing. Shiro looks stricken, frozen in place, like the very sound of it has pinned him to the floor. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers and he sounds like he might cry. He feels it, too. 

“Hey…” Shiro says, distressed, and reaches for Keith. But Keith shies away from the touch and Shiro flinches, dropping his hands back down into his lap. 

Keith tries to make himself smaller, curling in on himself. 

“I know I’m not your mate, Keith,” Shiro says quietly. “I don’t— I don’t know if you, um, have someone else in mind. Your mom said having a mate with you will bring you comfort, um, and when I told her I was watching after you—” 

He stops, looking lost. He stares down at his hands, but Keith can barely hear his words. The rejection burns through his veins like acid, destroying everything in its wake. The desire to have Shiro is so profound, it nearly feels impossible to hold so much devotion inside his body, and yet Shiro does not want it. 

Shiro has ignored his Invitation for days now. Even now, as he sits here before Keith, there is no effect— no lingering touches, no eyes darkened with lust. Shiro has been able to ignore what everyone else on the Atlas feels even without knowing Keith, even without caring for him. Shiro does care for him, Keith knows this, but it’s not the way Keith wants. It was never going to be so. 

Keith is grateful for Shiro’s friendship. Even if he does not wish to be his mate, they will be friends. That will always be precious to Keith, infinitely precious. He’s not about to ruin what little they have. 

Keith climbs to his feet, wobbly and uneven in his footing, and creeps back into his nest. He sniffs and it still reeks of his own scent, nothing sweet of Shiro within. Keith curls up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and buries his face away, his back to Shiro. He refuses to cry. That isn’t what alphas are meant to do during their ruts. 

Maybe he’s the wrong kind of alpha. He isn’t aggressive enough, maybe. He bares his neck to Shiro like he’s the alpha, and maybe he should show his strength more. He doesn’t know what Shiro wants. How could he possibly know what sort of mate Shiro might wish for? 

His scent is heavy with unhappiness, the rejection hanging over him like a carrion bird waiting to swoop down to pluck at his festering heart. 

“Keith,” Shiro says and Keith knows that Shiro is saying more, but Keith can’t hear it over the roar in his veins. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought it up,” Shiro says, and he sounds desperate. When Keith sniffs the air, he can taste Shiro’s distress, his unhappiness. “I know it must be painful to be without your mate. I’m sorry—” 

Keith wants to weep. Shiro’s attempts to be kind feel like daggers. 

“It’s fine,” Keith says and sounds wounded. “I know.” 

“Keith…” Shiro stops for one hitching moment, uncertain. “If you want me to find your—” 

“You don’t want me,” Keith says, refusing to look at Shiro or to turn over. Shiro’s scent spikes in surprise. 

“Keith, but—” 

Keith shakes his head, staring at the far wall. His claws itch to sink into something, and he paws at one of the blankets in the nest pathetically. “I understand, Shiro… It’s okay. You’re immune.” 

“Imm—” Shiro stops again. He’s quiet for a moment too long, the startling lack of words almost suffocating in the stillness between them. “… What do you mean, immune?” 

Keith shrugs, his heart a shriveled thing in his chest. “Whatever’s making everybody else want to fuck me.”

Shiro makes a noise of startled alarm and his answering silence is a stilted, breathless hitch. Keith can smell the way Shiro’s scent changes, a smell he’s never scented before from Shiro. It’s a raw smell, jagged and sharp like diamonds scraping together: the pungent odor of jealousy. 

That’s what makes Keith lift his head, twisting around to peer at Shiro over his shoulder. He can’t comprehend the way the scent washes over Keith’s senses, frazzling him. He sniffs again, but the scent is still there. Envy. 

He can’t make sense of it. Shiro stares at him, eyes wide and looking absolutely stricken. 

“You remember,” Keith says. “All those people staring at me.” Keith blinks at Shiro, who continues to stare in a muted shock, “You said I’m pretty, so of course they’d notice me.”

“Y- you are pretty,” Shiro says weakly, compelled through his silence to issue the compliment.

Keith wants to sing for it. He pushes past it. “Once you left, they started coming closer, too. Touching me.” 

“ _What_?” Shiro asks, the jealousy and shock spiking sharply with anger. Keith doesn’t cower, but the instincts inside him twist up and he growls, chest puffing up. “People are— they’re harassing you?” Shiro’s voice is thick with a barely contained fury. “Who? I’ll—” 

“They can’t help it,” Keith interrupts before Shiro can threaten disciplinary action. “It’s my Invitation.” 

“Your— what?”

Shiro looks so bewildered. Keith reminds himself that Shiro knows very little of Galra biology, far less than even Keith. Shiro stares at Keith with wide eyes, watching as Keith heaves himself up onto his knees with some effort, every muscle in his body aching with his rejection, with his inability to provide for the one person who has his heart. 

“My Invitation,” Keith says, staring into Shiro’s eyes now. “They’re responding to it. You’re the only one who isn’t acting any differently.” 

“I—” Shiro stops, quiet for a stunned moment. “Keith. I’m lost.” 

Keith nods. That much is clear to see, for all that Shiro is doing his best to understand, it’s clear that comprehension eludes him. His mate is lost and it isn’t his fault. Keith barely understands this all himself and he regrets not having learned it better, not having prepared himself for this. Maybe there’s a way to make the emptiness of his nest hurt less. Maybe next time will be better. Maybe it won’t hurt so much. 

“You ignore my Invitation.” 

“But I’m here,” Shiro says, protesting. “I’m here because you invited me here. I thought it would help—” 

“No,” Keith says, frowning. He can’t handle the mounting distress in his mate, nearly suffocating. He covers Shiro’s hands with his own, reaching for him. “It isn’t your fault, Shiro. You haven’t done anything wrong… It’s just my Invitation.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says with a sigh, clearly confused again. Keith can’t blame him. He pulls his hands away again and lets them rest limply in his lap. 

Keith swallows thickly, bracing himself. “When a Galra goes into a rut, they… change their scent to invite their mate closer. To come to them and… be with them.” He glances at Shiro and then darts his eyes away, staring down at his hands clenched against his thighs. “But there’s something wrong with mine. It’s— it’s going out to everyone, not just my… my mate.” Keith breathes out. “You— you aren’t responding to it. So you’re immune or it doesn’t work on you or you just— you don’t want me. Like that.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, hushed. He’s said his name so many times, but there’s something different in the breath of it this time. Keith can’t place it. 

“It’s okay,” Keith says quickly, his heart a withered thing in his chest. “I know we’re… we’re friends.” He ducks his head, swallowing back the low whine of a rejected alpha. “It’s okay if you don’t want me. But— but please don’t leave me, alpha.”

“I’m not leaving, Keith,” Shiro says, scooting closer towards the edge of the nest. He still doesn’t enter, doesn’t climb up into the space, but he reaches his hand out, hesitating just before he touches Keith. 

Keith whines. Shiro’s hand covers his, a gentle touch. His hands encompass Keith’s so fully, fingertips glancing across his knuckles. 

“So… your mate is supposed to respond to your Invitation?” Shiro asks after a long pause. 

Keith nods his head, looking at Shiro. He scoots back a little, just enough to make space for Shiro in the nest, if he chose to enter. Shiro doesn’t move, but he tracks Keith’s movement with a sweep of his eyes. He looks concerned, his scent a strange mix of too many emotions. He doesn’t move his hand off Keith’s and it makes a spark of hope glow in his chest like a nearly extinguished ember. 

“And… of everyone on this ship, I’m,” Shiro pauses, his blush climbing up his cheeks, “… I’m the only one who’s not responding?” 

Keith nods again miserably. 

“Why?” Shiro looks up at him.

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He paws at the blankets with his free hand, nails digging in deeper, catching on the woven threadwork. “If you don’t want me, maybe—”

Shiro shakes his head, a thoughtless gesture he doesn’t even seem aware he’s doing. He bites his lip and looks down, burrow furrowed. “Any other reasons?” 

Keith shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Shiro. I’m not an expert on any of this. It’s supposed to only work with a chosen mate, not everybody near me.” 

He nearly sounds lucid. He pushes past the instincts of his rut-brain and focuses on Shiro, on reassuring him, on answering his questions. He can be good. He breathes in and he breathes out, focusing on the action of it rather than the barrage of scents competing in his senses. He nearly has a headache from it all. 

“So you think I’m rejecting you because I’m not responding like everybody else,” Shiro says, his voice sounding hollow. He looks back up at Keith again. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “It’s okay. I understand.” 

Shiro frowns, so deep it nearly etches itself onto his face. Shiro always looks beautiful when he smiles, far younger and sweeter. He carries so much on his shoulders. He deserves all the smiles in the world, if only Keith could give that to him. 

Shiro frowns. “But… I don’t feel any differently. I can’t reject what I don’t feel.” 

Keith whimpers as the words punch him in the gut. Shiro looks devastated by the sound, his hand flexing over Keith’s, like he’s restraining the urge to reach out and touch Keith further, to pull him close into his arms. 

“I don’t mean it like that,” Shiro says softly. “I mean… What are the effects— how was I supposed to react?” 

Keith frowns, thinking of all of those aboard the Atlas— their scents, their touches. He thinks of Pidge and her disgust at Keith being in her very thoughts, somehow. 

“Everybody stares at me,” Keith says. “They smell like they want me. They touch me. They can’t stop thinking about me.” 

Shockingly, Shiro chuffs a laugh. He seems almost surprised by the sound, too. He blushes as Keith stares at him, blinking. 

“Okay,” Shiro says softly, sitting up on his knees. He leans in closer, head poking into Keith’s nest. It makes a low croon swell in Keith’s chest. “Okay,” Shiro says again. “So what if… those are all things someone always feels about you? Would the Invitation work then?” 

Keith is silent at the question, stumped. “Why would that matter?”

Shiro laughs again, shaking his head. “Keith. What if somebody… already looks at you? Already touches you? Already thinks about you all the time?” 

He doesn’t sound quite amused, but there’s something hopeful in his tone. His eyes are so big, looking at Keith, something shining there. Keith could drink in every change to Shiro’s face for hours and never grow tired of memorizing him. He blinks, staring into Shiro’s eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to pinpoint Shiro’s scent. 

“What if I’m not responding to your Invitation because it doesn’t change anything?” Shiro asks when Keith doesn’t respond. 

Keith snorts as the words settle, the very idea laughable. “What are you saying? That you always want to fuck me?” 

He wants to laugh, more laugh at himself than because the idea is funny. He looks at Shiro incredulously. But as his eyes slide across Shiro’s, he freezes— unable to look away from the struck look in Shiro’s eyes. Keith watches a blush climb up Shiro’s cheeks, engulfing his entire face, even to the tips of his ears. 

“W- wait,” Keith says, his entire body buzzing to life. “Do you?” 

Shiro looks away, and the fan of his eyelashes across his cheeks as he looks down is beautiful, too beautiful. Keith croons, low and beseeching, and he grips Shiro’s hand before he can pull it away. 

“N- not like _every_ moment,” Shiro says, turning very red. “I only mean… I.” He clears his throat, his scent thick with embarrassment. “I only meant that, if I could feel your Invitation, Keith— if, if you were really Inviting _me_ —” 

“Alpha—” 

“That’s the thing,” Shiro says, cutting himself off. “You aren’t thinking of me, are you? You keep saying I’m not your mate.” 

Keith blinks at Shiro, mouth opening. The words sing through him, punching low into his gut. “Shiro…” 

“I want to help you,” Shiro says. “I do, Keith. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you need— or if it’s even me that you want.” 

Keith _snarls_. He doesn’t mean to, but his mouth opens and he’s full of fangs, full of anger— not anger at Shiro, never at Shiro, but at himself. He’s failed utterly as a mate, to make his omega feel like he is unwanted, that he is the rejected one in turn, because he is selfish, because he is—

He grabs at Shiro, the secret part of him relieved to know that even snarling, even growling and with his hackles raised, Shiro does not seem scared of him. He looks alarmed, but his scent is only worry and concern. He grips Keith by the shoulders and it’s a tempering touch, anchoring him back into Shiro’s scent. 

Keith’s breathing is far too shallow as he stares at Shiro. “ _Shiro,_ ” he whispers, strained. “You are _perfect._ ” 

Shiro blinks at him, utterly taken aback by the words. 

Keith is insistent, though. He pulls Shiro hard and yanks him up into the nest. It knocks some of the blankets askew, but it’s already such a horrible nest as is. Shiro doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide and on Keith. Keith settles him, pushing him back against a stack of pillows and blankets. Keith inhales sharply, his chest swelling. He kneels in the entrance, not blocking Shiro’s exit but filling the space, letting Shiro know that he is safe here, that he is welcome here, that he is _wanted._

But Shiro doesn’t know what he’s seeing. He is Human. He is blessedly, beautifully Human, and he’s blinking at Keith with wide eyes, his scent only curiosity and concern, no panic, no distress, no disgust. 

Keith watches Shiro adjust within the nest, sitting up on his elbows and looking at Keith. 

“You… you think of me?” Keith asks, his heart twisting in his chest.

Shiro’s expression is a fragile thing, staring into Keith’s eyes. He blushes, but his smile is gentle when he nods. “All the time, Keith. Every moment.” 

The words make Keith tremble, curling through him. His entire body wants to sing with the knowledge. 

“I’m— I’m Inviting you, Shiro. You.” Keith licks his lips, growling deep in his gut. His voice is too rough. “Please Invite me back.” 

“I— I can’t do things with my scent, Keith. Not like you can. I don’t know how to respond.” 

Keith nods. He knows that much. For all the resilience and resourcefulness of his mate, he is still Human. He doesn’t know the biology. Keith croons, hoping the sound is comforting. He touches Shiro’s knees, bent before him. 

“But you want to respond?” 

Shiro nods, his eyes sparking in the dark. “Yes, Keith. _Yes._ ” 

Keith ducks his head, then, trying to regain some control of himself, to focus. He gulps down air, his breathing too shallow, his fangs rough in his mouth. 

“Tell me,” Shiro says then, sitting up and leaning forward. “When your mate Invites you back, what does that look like?” 

His hand closes around Keith’s, and Keith looks up, his heart leaping. Shiro is far closer than he was a moment ago, his eyes warm in their nest. He isn’t disgusted. When Keith inhales deeply, he can smell Shiro— the spike of spice in the undercurrent, the sweet honey scent of affection. 

Keith gapes at Shiro. 

“Will you tell me? Um…” Shiro pauses, licking his lips. “… Alpha?” 

“Oh,” Keith gasps, heat flashing through him like a lightning strike. He can’t even comprehend the effect it has on him to hear Shiro call him by his title. 

“Or, omega?” Shiro asks. “You keep using both, I don’t know which one I should—” 

Keith scrambles in closer towards him, nearly knocking into Shiro entirely in his earnestness to get closer. He yips, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, the smallest bark of joy. Relief soars through him, unbridled hope flaming to life in his chest. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Shiro—” 

He grips Shiro’s hair tight in his hands and yanks him forward, crashing his mouth to Shiro’s. He hears Shiro gasp, smells the curl of his scent wrap around Keith, and then Keith stops focusing on anything but the perfect feeling of Shiro’s mouth against his. 

Shiro’s lips part beneath his and it’s perfect. His hair is so soft beneath Keith’s fingertips, but his mouth is sweeter still. Keith deepens the kiss and he hears Shiro’s answering breath, the hitch of it in his throat before he sinks back and pulls Keith in closer with him. 

With Shiro’s lips on his, Keith’s mind sings into relief, barely comprehending anything else beyond the perfect glide of Shiro’s mouth to his, the sigh of his breath, the flick of his tongue against his bottom lip. Keith growls and squirms closer, scrambling to get into Shiro’s lap. 

He moves, straddling Shiro, and he can only groan when it puts his cock up against Shiro’s stomach. There can be no mistaking that he’s still hard, has been hard through all of this. Shiro’s scent doesn’t change, though, he only lifts his arms to wrap tight around Keith, holding him up against him. He drags Keith in closer, pressing him up against his body. Keith kisses him and Shiro makes a breathy sound, soft and nearly trilling. It’s the most beautiful, perfect sound in the world. 

It takes some effort for Keith to pull away from the kiss, panting, nervous that he’s nicked Shiro’s lip with his fangs in his eagerness. But Shiro’s smile is moist only from the kiss, no blood staining his smiling mouth. 

Keith blinks at him fuzzily, but he doesn’t have a chance to think, to breathe, because Shiro’s big palm cups Keith’s cheek and draws him back in. He breathes Keith’s name, soft like a prayer, and then he’s the one to initiate the kiss. 

Shiro is enthusiastic with it, if still gentle, unbearably gentle. The perfect swipe of Shiro’s tongue into Keith’s mouth is blissful and leaves him shuddering. Shiro drops his hand down, resting the palm heavy at the small of Keith’s back. Keith wants nothing more than to get closer, to press Shiro down into the blankets and fuck him. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, thrilled to have received an answer, to have received acceptance— Shiro. It’s only Shiro. His entire mind is filled with thoughts of Shiro, his entire body on fire from just one touch. 

He keens low, managing a garbled gasp of Shiro’s name, longing and desire stabbing through him. He cups the back of Shiro’s neck, nails pricking, and kisses him like he might devour him. He drags his fangs across Shiro’s bottom lip, mindful not to split him open, and swallows Shiro’s answering, pleased whimper. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, sounding breathless, sounding perfect. His mate. His perfect mate—

Keith tips back from the kiss. “Shiro,” he says, voice low in a reverential whisper. “… Invite me.” 

Shiro looks at him, lips parted and kiss-soft. Keith waits, his heart in his throat, and watches Shiro study him. He whimpers softly when Shiro licks his lips, when he tastes the way Keith lingers there on his skin. 

Shiro looks at him, and then breathes out. Slowly, he tips his head to the side, exposing his neck. There’s a question in his eyes, as if uncertain if this is the right course of action— not for lack of desire, but for if it’s the right way to invite Keith to him. His lips part, just breathless, his eyes on Keith. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Keith’s ever seen. 

The sound Keith makes is nearly wounded. He scrambles in closer, nuzzling at Shiro’s neck with purpose, covering him in his scent. He feels Shiro swallow. It felt good to do this to Shiro before, but it’s nothing in comparison to now— to knowing that he is wanted. He licks and bites down Shiro’s neck, covering him in his scent. He growls, feeling the pride swell within him. He kisses up Shiro’s neck and nibbles at his jawline, purring out his pleasure. 

“Do I— do I do this to you, too?” Shiro asks after a moment, sounding breathless still.

Keith gasps. The desire for it pulses through him, nearly overwhelming with the thought of it. “ _Yes,_ Shiro.” 

“Show me?” Shiro asks. 

Keith licks Shiro’s neck and withdraws, nodding his approval. His perfect omega, so perfect, always taking care of him how he needs—

He tips his head back, baring his neck to Shiro. He cups the back of Shiro’s neck and guides him in closer, bringing him up to his throat.

“Work upwards,” Keith whispers, voice rough and graveled out. “You’re— it’s about giving me your scent.” 

“Alright,” Shiro says and starts nuzzling, letting Keith’s hand on his neck guide him upward.

And Shiro’s always been a quick learner— he’s always so eager to be the best. He’s methodical in how he nuzzles against Keith’s skin. His lips, his nose, his cheeks all rub against his neck and Keith is a trembling mess for it. He feels his cock stir as Shiro works, throbbing when Shiro’s mouth opens and his tongue traces over his skin, mimicking what Keith’s done to him so many times before. It’s so good that Keith nearly weeps for it, closing his eyes and just letting himself sink into the feeling, knowing that it’s Shiro, that it’s his mate, pressing his lips against Keith’s neck, laying claim to him in turn. 

He’s Shiro’s. He’s always been Shiro’s. 

By the end of it, Keith is a panting mess, gripping Shiro tight by the back of the neck so tightly that he fears he might bruise him. Shiro hardly seems to mind, humming sweetly as he mouths over Keith’s jaw. 

“Do you like that?” Shiro asks, his voice ghosting across Keith’s skin. And then adds, because he’s too clever, because he knows what it would mean for Keith to hear it again: “Alpha?” 

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers. 

“Whatever you want,” Shiro says gently. “You can have it. You said you’d take care of me— you can, if that’ll help.” 

Keith rears back in Shiro’s lap, hands on his chest, looking at him. Shiro blinks back up at him, no doubt in his eyes, nothing uncertain or hesitant or fearful lingering in his scent. He’s perfectly open, looking at Keith.

Inviting him. 

Keith trembles, overwhelmed with the thought of it, with the reality of Shiro’s hands on him, the aching phantom of Shiro’s lips against his, over his skin, his lips. Shiro wants him. Shiro is here, letting Keith want him in turn. 

Shiro hadn’t noticed Keith’s Invitation because he always wants Keith. The thought is a strange one, one that leaves Keith shivering. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro whispers, and even with his scent spiked with the spice of desire, even though Keith can smell it on him, his expression hasn’t changed— it’s still as gentle as he always looks at Keith. How he always finds Keith’s eyes in a crowded room, how his hand always cups Keith’s shoulder with unbearable sweetness, how he sends him dumb selfies with emoji, invites him to visit his family over the weekend with him, always finds Keith. 

“I want— I want to make you feel good,” Keith says in a murmur, reaching for Shiro. He cups his cheeks. “I’ll take care of you, Shiro. I’ll make you feel good… Give you everything you want. Just let me—” 

“Shh,” Shiro says again, his hand smoothing up Keith’s back. “Keith… You don’t have to beg me. It’s yours… I’m Inviting you.” 

Keith whimpers. He kisses Shiro again, sloppy and overwhelmed, and Shiro is there to meet him. He opens to Keith, his breath a soft song that pulses through him. Keith lays worship to him like that, despite the buzz inside him to move fast, to take what he wants, he makes himself go slow. Slow, the way Shiro would like it. Slow, the way Shiro deserves.

Shiro deserves to be treated as gently as he treats Keith. His mate is a kind-hearted one, sweet and tender. He deserves to be treated kindly, treated like he’s precious. Because he _is._

Shiro arches into Keith, making a soft sound as Keith kisses him. 

Keith paws at him, fingers curling around the front of his shirt. He fiddles with it, but the need to get closer is too strong. He yanks on the shirt, but he pulls too hard— there’s no mistaking the sound of the fabric tearing. Keith tugs again and the shirt rips completely, peeling away from Shiro.

Shiro gasps, breaking the kiss to blink down at himself in surprise. Keith tosses aside the shirt, torn and tattered and ruined. 

“Keith—” 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Keith says, the distant, rational part of him distressed to have ruined something of his mate’s. 

Shiro shakes his head, looking punched-out, but there’s nothing in his scent that spells displeasure. In fact, if Keith had to guess, Shiro liked it. And his blush does move all the way down his chest, staining across his collarbone and even down to his pecs. Keith stares at his chest, the brown nipples and the scars, everything laid out beautifully before him. 

He spends a breathless moment just staring at Shiro, drinking him in. He’s a perfect feast before Keith, sprawled out half-naked in the nest Keith made for him. His hair is disarray around him, stuck to his forehead, his chest rising and falling with his breath. Keith presses his hands down against Shiro’s pecs, thumbs touching over his nipples. He watches Shiro’s eyes go dark, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Keith wants to lick every inch of him. His fingers curl, nails pricking over his skin. He traces down the lines of his body, curving along the shape of his muscles. He settles over his belly, swelling beneath his touch, and the line where his jeans wait to be ripped away, too. 

“Shiro,” Keith croons.

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro says breathlessly. “I’m here. Take what you want.” 

Keith hardly needs further invitation. He seizes Shiro’s trousers and rips them off in a similar fashion, yanking them down and taking Shiro’s underwear with them. Shiro is blessedly bare before him, and even in Keith’s rut, he can appreciate the perfect shape of Shiro— how good he looks naked in his den, in the nest he made for him.

His scent smells even brighter here without clothes in the way. Keith’s eyes sweep over him with an approving keen, hands on Shiro’s belly, staring at his chest and down, down to his cock. It’s half hard, big and already thickening, and Keith croons again. 

Keith’s hands touch Shiro’s thighs, perfect and thick beneath his palms. He spends an appreciative moment simply petting over Shiro’s skin, feeling his muscles flex beneath his palms. Even his knees are perfect, Keith thinks, catching Shiro’s feet to pluck off his socks so he can appreciate his perfect ankles and toes. It makes Shiro laugh, that sort of punched-out sound that’s half pleasure and half embarrassment. Keith runs his hands over them, working back up from his feet to his hips, watching Shiro’s breath come quicker, expectation and desire sparking in his scent. 

Keith’s eyes trace along the curve of Shiro’s cock. He studies it without touching, how perfectly big it looks as it thickens, twitching just a little as Keith continues to stare. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, embarrassed now. He doesn’t move to cover himself, though, just spreads his legs to make space for Keith kneeling there before him. 

Keith’s overwhelmed with everything he wants to do to Shiro— to kiss down his body, to swallow his cock, to fuck his thighs, to fuck into him. But he needs to go slow, needs to take his time. Shiro’s never taken a knot before— at least he doesn’t think so, and that thought makes Keith growl— and he isn’t built the way an omega might be, ready to sink down onto Keith. 

“You’re so—” Keith starts, choking on the words. His rut-brain won’t let him spell out all the ways that Shiro is beautiful to him. He can’t even find the stupidest words to express it. He looks up at Shiro, meeting his eyes, and keens quietly. 

Shiro smiles at him. “Yeah, Keith.” His hands touch Keith’s, then slide up over his wrists and across his forearms, stroking gently. “You too?” he asks, nodding to Keith’s clothes. “I want to see you, too.” 

Keith tears his clothes off with too much eagerness. He hears more rips, his clothes shredding around him as he throws them aside. Shiro’s eyes go darker watching him and Keith doesn’t regret. 

Shiro’s eyes sweep over Keith’s body as he strips down, drinking him in. He stares at Keith’s cock, making a small wondering sound as he takes in the shape of it, the soft bulging that signals the beginning of his knot. 

Shiro reaches out then, his hand slow enough to broadcast his intentions, but he’ll see no protest from Keith. Shiro’s fingers close around Keith’s cock, right at the base where his knot will expand, and it makes Keith groan. He tilts his head back, something like a howl coiling up in his chest. 

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, and then strokes Keith’s cock in one fluid flick of his wrist. 

Even just that simple touch leaves Keith a trembling mess. He paws at Shiro, inching closer towards him. He whimpers, crawling over Shiro’s body— naked, perfect, beautiful— and kisses him again. He swallows Shiro’s pleased sigh as he rolls his hips up, fucking his cock into Shiro’s hand. He wants desperately to just sink into him, to come inside him, to knot him and plug him. To take what he wants. To take what Shiro is offering him.

But no, he can go slow. He can be careful. It’s what Shiro deserves. He bites down on Shiro’s lip until he gasps, opening to Keith, moaning when Keith licks into his mouth. Shiro sucks on his tongue and it’s a blissful feeling and pleasure sparks through Keith as he wriggles closer, cock twitching inside the circle of Shiro’s fist. 

Shiro groans like he’s the one who’s getting stroked off, his hand sure as he squeezes around Keith’s cock. His cock is fully hard now, pressing against his belly, a bead of precome slick at the tip and smearing a trail over his skin. Everything is slick, made wetter by Keith’s precome slipped away by Shiro’s fingers. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, panting, thrusting his hips up.

Shiro hums, confidence exuding from his every move now, sure of himself and sure of what it is that Keith wants. He tugs playfully on Keith’s cock, twisting his hand, and it feels too good, even this. Keith shudders through it, wondering if even just the touch of Shiro’s hand will make him come. Shiro pulls Keith in closer, and Keith can’t register what it is that Shiro’s doing until he feels the blissful slide of Shiro’s cock against his. 

Shiro’s massive hand opens, then wraps around them both, and the friction sings its pleasure through Keith. He arches his back, growling out and warbling Shiro’s name.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, face flushed. “Good, Keith?” 

Keith nods his head in a jerky little movement, then fucks forward to slide his cock in the perfect space between Shiro’s cock and his hand. They rut together like that, their precome making it slick between them. Keith ducks his head, pressing his mouth down against Shiro’s collarbone and biting. He fucks his hips up, fueled forward by Shiro’s delighted breaths, his quiet whispers of Keith’s name. 

Keith arches up, nuzzling at Shiro’s jaw, whimpering happily when Shiro turns his head to glance his mouth against Keith’s. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, sounding so happy.

Keith nips at Shiro’s smiling mouth, growling low in his throat, and changes the angle of his hips. He feels the answering squeeze of Shiro’s hand, stroking over Keith’s cock as they rut together. He feels Shiro’s cock twitch and it’s a blissful feeling. It feels good, to move together, the two of them pressed together in a kiss that’s more teeth and breath than tongue. 

“I think,” Shiro whispers against his mouth, “I really do feel it… all the time, Keith.”

“What?” Keith growls, unwilling to pull back enough to speak properly. He can’t make sense of what Shiro means.

“Your Invitation,” Shiro says, his cheeks flushed when Keith opens his eyes to meet Shiro’s. He tips forward, pressing his forehead to Keith’s. 

They look at one another, still rocking together, their cocks sliding together as they seek that friction. Shiro guides his hand, squeezing and slicking down the lengths of their cocks, and Keith can’t tear his eyes away from Shiro. He can see the change in him, how red he looks, how eager he is to touch, how dark his eyes are. But that’s arousal, not some alien pheromones forcing the feeling. Shiro has always wanted him. 

Shiro wants him. The thought is still a thrilling one. 

Keith growls, low in his throat, unwilling to pull away, despairing at the thought of stopping. His entire body feels like it’s pulsing to life, fueled on by the knowledge that his mate wants him, that his mate has accepted his Invitation, has accepted him for far longer than Keith ever realized or let himself believe—

Shiro must be of the same mind. He shakes his head, gasping. “Keep going, Keith. Keith—”

Keith drops his hand down to join Shiro’s, gripping their cocks together and sliding up, guiding Shiro’s hand. They move together, pressed together. 

At the touch, Shiro keens. It’s not an omega sound, but something fully Human. He sighs when Keith dives to him again, kissing him as he fucks up into Shiro’s hand. He swallows every sound Shiro makes, can feel how his body tenses, how he shifts and pulls beneath Keith. 

Keith can smell Shiro’s mounting orgasm and he thinks he must feel it before even Shiro does. Keith thinks Shiro’s orgasm must take him by surprise, his sounds punched out and delighted as he pulses and then comes across their stomachs, his cock twitching. Keith growls, satisfied to have brought his mate pleasure before himself, and fucks harder against him, frenzied, the slip of Shiro’s come across his stomach a brand. He moves and he moves until he comes across Shiro’s abs and fingertips.

Shiro lies panting beneath him and whines softly when Keith finally slows. 

But coming doesn’t take the edge off. If anything, the fire builds in Keith’s belly, sparking to life. He’s in his rut now, he thinks, has been for hours— but now, especially, when Shiro is in his arms, his mate willingly come to him, laid bare beneath him. The difference is clear— the pain of an unsatisfied rut versus the bliss of Shiro in his arms now. He could do any manner of thing to Shiro. Shiro _wants_ him to. Shiro has always been his hyper-focus, but it’s all the more so now, all the more when he can smell Shiro’s pleasure. 

“Alpha,” Shiro whispers, wondering, and Keith is _gone._

He’s never going to get used to the way it sounds when Shiro calls him that. Keith pushes him down, kissing him with a growl as he swipes his hand over Shiro’s stomach, cleaning him off, making his fingers sticky and wet with evidence of Shiro’s pleasure. It was Keith that brought him here. Only Keith. 

“Gonna knot you,” he says in a throaty promise, swallowing Shiro’s delighted breath. 

He has to take his time, though. He slicks his fingers up with their come, makes himself sloppy with it, before he pushes Shiro’s thighs open and strokes his fingers across his hole. Shiro makes a soft sound of surprise as Keith touches him, but then he only spreads his legs wider, lifting his hips to give Keith better access. 

Keith doesn’t hesitate, stroking his fingers and swirling them around his hole before sinking into him. Shiro sighs, arching, and he trembles as Keith works him open. Shiro takes him so well, already relaxed and opened to Keith, his hips wriggling impatiently when Keith takes even a moment too long before stroking deeper. 

Shiro is a livewire, desire working through his system and making him pliant for Keith. He takes Keith so well, like he was made for him, and all Keith can do is smile helplessly at Shiro as he smiles back up at him, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re so handsome,” Shiro says in a murmur. 

Somehow, it makes Keith want to blush, the compliment snapping through even his rut-brain. He grumbles a little, low and throaty, and it makes Shiro laugh even as he squirms. He hooks one leg around Keith’s hips, anchoring him close as he spreads himself open on Keith’s fingers. 

“You feel so good,” he says, and the praise makes Keith’s chest swell. Shiro notices, of course, breathless as he looks at Keith. He always was so observant. “You’re taking such good care of me, Keith.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says and can’t say much else, so focused on pulling Shiro open, loosening him up. He could make Shiro come just like this if he wanted to, and the thought is a powerful one. It’s blissful to think he’s touching Shiro at all.

He knows what his mate looks like as he comes. He knows what his cock feels like as it’s spilling out between them. He knows what it feels like to press his fingers into his hole, to make him ready for his knot. Soon, he’ll know what that feels like, too. 

Keith keeps touching him like that, keeps working into him, until Shiro is a squirming, writhing mess beneath him. He pants Keith’s name, but still Keith keeps going, unwilling to take half-measures with this, unwilling to risk hurting him. It’s not instinct that makes him sure of Shiro’s comfort, but the all-encompassing love that burns inside him. Every moment of every breath, of every day, is Shiro’s. Keith will do everything to make Shiro feel good. 

He ducks his head, nuzzling at Shiro’s neck as he works him open with his fingers buried inside him, tugging playfully at his rim, his thumb swirling as he feeds come into him. Shiro is slick and loose, ready for Keith, but Keith’s desire to play outweighs his need to fuck. He marvels at the silky touch of Shiro, at the way he spreads open to Keith’s slim fingers. He’ll feel so good taking Keith’s knot. 

“Make you wet and open for me,” Keith grunts, the words tumbling out of him. “Make you come, Shiro. Make you feel good. Always you.” 

Shiro nods his head, pupils dilated as he stares at Keith, his mouth open in unvoiced moans. He whimpers happily when Keith lurches up from his neck to kiss him instead. Shiro’s oversensitive, it seems, his kiss little more than a bump of his mouth to Keith’s, panting. His body trembles beneath Keith, and his cock is hard again. 

“Never would—” Shiro swallows, moaning. “I wouldn’t have taken you for such a tease, Keith.” 

Keith growls happily, eyes bright. It makes Shiro laugh and he butts his head playfully against Keith’s. It’s an affectionate gesture, and Keith grumbles happily when Shiro follows the gesture up with the simple brush of his nose to Keith’s. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, chest swollen with pride and his cock hard where it presses against Shiro’s thigh. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, panting around a laugh. “Yeah, Keith. But come on. Stop teasing me.” He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t smell upset— just longing, squirming with desire, his hands touching at Keith wherever he can reach. He tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and tugs, like he might beseech him to come closer, to kiss him properly. “Keith—” 

Keith crooks his fingers and Shiro groans, head falling to the side as he breathes. Keith never wants to stop staring at him. Shiro’s chest rises and falls unevenly with his shallow breaths, his lips red from how much he’s bitten them. He’s the most beautiful thing Keith’s ever seen and he’s _his._

“You’re so— patient,” Shiro says and laughs at his joke, his eyes sparkling. He smooths one hand up Keith’s arm, squeezing his shoulder, then hooking around the back of his neck, hanging on. “Keith. God. What you do to me...” 

Keith shivers at the praise, inhaling sharply to drink in Shiro’s scent. He smells good, smells perfect— smells like he’s pleased, like he’s being treated the way he deserves. Because of Keith. Only because of Keith, because of his alpha. 

Keith’s still bathing in the words and so doesn’t protest when Shiro tugs Keith’s fingers out from inside him, lifting his hips. He smiles up at Keith. 

“I’m ready for you,” Shiro says, squeezing Keith’s hand. “Been ready. Come on, Keith.” 

“Shiro…”

“Don’t you want to give me your knot?” Shiro asks innocently, and he even bats his eyelashes. “Won’t you take care of me like you promised?” 

It’s primal instinct that makes Keith snarl again, the pride pulsing through him. He’s the one to make his omega feel good, the one to take care of him, the one to knot him. 

He grabs at Shiro, hands digging into his hips, and he flips him over with zero effort. Shiro gasps at the sudden movement but doesn’t protest as he gets down onto his hands and knees. He arches his back for Keith, pressing his ass back, and it’s as close as Shiro might get to presenting without knowing what presenting is. Keith barely has time to comprehend the gesture, the pose, his vision whiting out at the luxurious view of Shiro laid out before him, spreading his legs and arching his back, his hole shiny with the come Keith swirled into him. 

Keith fists his cock and shifts up onto his knees, mounting up behind Shiro and guiding his cock to press against his hole. 

Shiro arches further, gasping, his body shuddering as Keith sinks his cock into him. Keith forgets to go slow, forgets to be careful, just glides into him on one fluid motion, not stopping until he’s buried up to the hilt. Shiro trembles, shuddering beneath him as he adjusts to the sudden feeling of fullness. He’s making the most delicious sounds— a gasp, a little moan, the tiniest almost-trill. His scent spikes, but there’s no fear, no pain. Only pleasure. 

Keith hunches down so he can lick up his mate’s spine. Shiro sighs, squirming. 

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro says around a moan. “Fuck…” 

Keith rumbles in pleasure when Shiro presses his hips back, coaxing Keith to move. And Keith does, not waiting, his claws digging into Shiro’s hips as he grips him, fucking into him with a roll of his hips and quick movements. He drags Shiro back onto his cock, makes Shiro writhe beneath him. They fall into a rhythm perfectly, like they were always made to move like this together. Keith fucks forward and Shiro is there to rock back against him. When Keith rolls back, Shiro shudders forward, nearly far enough that Keith slips out again. 

Shiro shifts beneath him, dropping down, burying his face into his folded arms and shoving his ass back, and it’s perfect, too perfect, and Keith can’t help but groan as he just keeps thrusting. The glide is perfect, the friction still there but an easy shift. He feels his cock swelling the more he presses into Shiro, but Shiro takes him so easily. He squeezes around him whenever Keith strokes into him, and it makes them both moan.

Keith buries his face between Shiro’s shoulder blades, shuddering as he fucks into him. He feels the swell of his knot, knows he’ll split Shiro open on it once it rises. He’ll need to come a few times before he can knot him properly, before the knot is big enough to plug Shiro up, but it hardly feels like a daunting task. He could stay on his knees like this for hours, studious in his desire to bring Shiro over the edge. 

“Yes, Keith, yes—” Shiro sighs, and he sounds so damn happy. 

Beneath the fuzz of his rut-brain, Keith feels his heart go soaring. He knows how long he’s wanted Shiro, how long he’s wished for it. He has to wonder how long Shiro’s wanted it, too. If he’s thought about this as much as Keith has. The happy, blissed-out sounds he’s making are more than enough to encourage Keith to do this again and again. Anything. Whatever Shiro wants. 

Shiro calls his name, spurring him onward. He rocks down beneath him, the entire bed shaking and threatening to take the nest down with it. He moans Keith’s name, begging for more— to go faster, to go deeper, to fuck him. 

It’s intoxicating to hear it, to feel how breathless Shiro is, the perfect gravel of his voice as he husks out more moans. 

“Keith,” he pants and it’s too good to hear him say Keith’s name like that. Keith’s addicted to the sound of it, wants to do whatever he can to make Shiro always call his name like that. 

But Keith’s too on edge, too deep in his rut. He fucks into Shiro, but he’s already too close to coming. He can feel it rising inside him, the musky scent of an alpha’s come. It’s impossible to resist, not when he has his mate beneath him, his omega spread open to him. It barely takes any strokes before he comes inside Shiro, filling him. It slicks the way, makes Shiro wet and open, and Shiro groans, shuddering, and fucks his hips back like he can’t stand even a breath of separation between the two of them. Keith thrusts his cock into Shiro, grinding down, burying himself inside him, surrounded by Shiro’s perfect scent, the sound of his panting. 

“Shiro,” he whines, pawing over him, touching him. His hand wraps around Shiro’s waist, seeking his cock. He wants to memorize every inch of Shiro, feel how good he feels beneath his palm, how good his moans sound in Keith’s ears.

Keith finds Shiro’s cock, palming him. He curls his fingers around him in a loose hold and strokes him off, but it barely takes any sort of touch at all before Shiro is crying out beneath him, arching, and grinding into his touch. Shiro shudders as he comes across Keith’s fingers, staining the bedsheets beneath him. 

Keith rumbles in pleasure as Shiro moans, shaking through his orgasm as he clenches his body around Keith’s cock, milking him deeper. Keith feels overwhelmed with it all, his need to rut the only thing keeping him from sobbing in happiness. In all the years he’s loved Shiro, he never really let himself imagine what it’d feel like to fuck him, to be buried inside him. 

“Keith,” Shiro says with a happy little murmur, and he sounds drunk on it, like Keith’s actually managed to fuck him out. Then again, Keith isn’t sure if it’s normal for Shiro to come so quickly twice in a row. 

Keith rumbles in pleasure at the thought of it, of knowing that nobody can please Shiro the way Keith can, that nobody else could ever come close to touching his mate. He nuzzles between Shiro’s shoulder blades, crooning happily. 

Shiro takes him so well. Keith leans away enough to look, his palm falling to one of Shiro’s cheeks. He pulls him open, spreading him wide, captivated by the sight of his cock disappearing inside Shiro’s body. Keith shifts his hips, groaning as some of his come spills out from inside Shiro, slipping past Keith’s cock. Shiro’s hole is slick and stretched wide around Keith’s cock, but Keith doesn’t have his knot yet— he can’t plug him properly. 

Keith can’t stop looking, watching the slick of come scroll down Shiro’s body, slipping over his trembling thigh, already slick with come and sweat. Shiro is like this because of Keith. Because of what Keith’s done to him, because he’s let Keith do this—

“Like what you see?” Shiro asks, sounding breathless.

Keith looks up to find Shiro peeking at him over his shoulder, his smile at once shy and smug. He spreads his legs a little, wriggling, working his ass back onto Keith’s cock. 

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers and goes to him. He slumps forward, nuzzling at the back of Shiro’s neck, and the urge to bite him is so strong. He’d give anything to bestow the mating mark now. 

But he holds himself back, focusing instead on grinding against Shiro’s ass, feeding his cock deeper into him, pleased by the sound of their bodies between them, the slosh of his come as it slips out from inside Shiro.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Shiro says with a laugh. 

“You are perfect,” Keith breathes. It’s not quite what Shiro meant but he means it all the same. He feels the heat of Shiro’s blush against where his nose presses to Shiro’s neck. 

Shiro shifts beneath him. “So are you, Keith.” 

Keith rumbles happily at the words, pleased to have brought his omega pleasure. He nuzzles over his skin, brushing his mouth along the back of Shiro’s shoulder in a sloppy series of kisses. He feels Shiro relax in increments beneath him, sighing happily as he gets his arms beneath him, relaxing in the bed with his ass pressed against Keith’s hips. 

Keith keeps himself draped across Shiro for a moment longer until he summons up a deep breath and sits up. Slowly, he eases his cock out enough that Shiro’s hole swallows just around the tip of him. It makes Shiro moan weakly as Keith plays with him, feeding his cock into Shiro and letting it drag back out again, tugging and playing along his rim. He’s memorized by the way Shiro opens to him, the way his come slips out only to be fed back into his body by the stroke of Keith’s cock and fingers. 

Keith is still hard, will be hard until he can knot Shiro properly, and he takes his time, pleased to watch his come slip down Shiro’s thighs only for him to swipe it back up with his fingers and slip it across his hole. He’s well and truly slick for Keith now, thanks to them both, and it looks good. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Shiro asks, a tease in his voice even as he sounds breathless. He sounds moments away from begging Keith again. 

Keith croons quietly, returning to Shiro to nuzzle at the back of his neck. He slides his cock across his hole and in the cleft of his ass, imploring him with the softest whine. He needs, always, the approval of his omega, to fuck into the one who’s so wet and open beneath him. 

“Shiro,” he says around a whimper. “Please.” 

“Go on…” Shiro shifts his hips up, as if he might coax Keith’s cock inside him with just a swivel of his hips. “Take me, alpha.”

“Fuck!” 

Keith stutters forward, fisting his cock and pushing it deep into Shiro’s hole. Shiro sighs, rising to meet him, and Keith starts fucking. Keith moves in deep, languid strokes and watches Shiro claw the blankets beneath them, sighing Keith’s name and rolling his hips. He shoves his ass back, fitting snugly against Keith’s cock, like Shiro was made for him. He’s so strong beneath him, body spread open and powerful, but he takes Keith so perfectly, so easily, so sweetly. 

“Perfect,” Keith says, voice throaty and punched-out. He bites at the back of Shiro’s shoulder, whimpering. “Shiro—”

“Yeah,” Shiro moans, wriggling. “Yeah, Keith.” 

Keith preens, delighted by Shiro’s pleasure. He changes his pace, the angle of it, stroking into Shiro until he finds his prostate, glancing over it enough to make Shiro shudder. Keith grins, nearly feral with it, and does it again. 

Shiro barks a shocked cry of pleasure, as if surprised that he could feel so much at once, and maybe he is, maybe he’s overwhelmed, maybe he’s drowning in their mingling scents. Keith certainly is, drowning in the perfect weight of their scents woven together. Shiro feels so good on his cock, feels so good beneath him. 

He mouths at the back of Shiro’s neck, not daring to bite down but delighting in the thrill of it, in knowing, somehow, that Shiro would accept it. There’ll be time for it, time when he’s not in a rut— when he can make it perfect for Shiro. He wants to feel Shiro’s teeth on his neck, giving him the mark back. Mated. Soon, he thinks. Soon. 

“Love you,” Keith mumbles into Shiro’s hair and feels him gasp and shudder beneath him. “Shiro,” Keith says around a sigh, the words honeyed and smooth. The easiest thing he’s ever said, leaving him buoyant. “I love you.” 

Shiro trembles, his cock thick when Keith paws for it, curling his fingers around the perfect swell of him. He strokes Shiro off, and Shiro goes wordless beneath him, gasping and pleading, shuddering around Keith’s cock. He can’t speak, his only sounds primal and pulled out from within him, but Keith loves that, loves to know he’s the reason for it. He lets Shiro chase that feeling, stroking in time with his hand. He brings Shiro to that edge of pleasure, delighting in the arch of him beneath Keith. 

It’s impossible to resist the feeling of it. He fucks into Shiro and knows he’ll come again, buried deep inside Shiro’s body, ready and open to him— made for him. His perfect mate. He fills Shiro with his cock. He’ll fill him again and again, make him overflow with his come until his thighs are slick and sticky with Keith, his body covered with evidence that they’re here together. He growls, preening triumphantly as Shiro fucks back onto Keith’s cock. 

“Shiro,” he growls. 

This time, he feels the swell of his knot and knows he’ll plug Shiro. He croons to him, nuzzling at the back of his neck and then his jaw as he feels it building, holding Shiro up and running his palms over his heaving belly. 

“Gonna knot you,” he says, not quite a warning so much as it’s a promise. 

“I can take it,” Shiro says. “Give it to me, alpha.”

He knows what it does to Keith to hear those words. Keith garbles a low-pitched whine, shuddering above Shiro, and he can nearly taste the glow of Shiro’s happiness in his scent. There’s pride there, delight, and all-encompassing pleasure. Keith feels drunk on Shiro’s scent, on knowing he’s the reason for it. 

He’ll always be the reason for this. 

He strokes over Shiro’s cock, bringing him over the edge until he comes. Keith feels the way his hole clenches around Keith’s cock, rippling in his pleasure, and it’s too much. Keith tips his head back, gasping out a startled plea for his mate, and Shiro spills out across Keith’s fingertips. 

Keith fucks into him, his pace nearly frenzied and without any true coordination. He can feel the swell of his cock, the way it builds and presses forward. Keith fucks and fucks and fucks, burying himself within Shiro. Shiro already looks so perfect on his cock, but he’ll look all the better now, plugged and split open by Keith’s knot. 

“Alpha,” Shiro cries out again and he knows what it does to Keith.

Keith is helpless to fight against it. He comes, gasping out, his knot pushing against the rim of Shiro’s hole. They arch together and Shiro’s hole strains as Keith plugs him. Keith is a panting, keening mess as he presses kiss after kiss to every part of Shiro that he can reach. He covers him in it, all lips and tongue, panting out Shiro’s name. He croons, low in his throat, wishing to soothe his mate. 

Shiro ripples so perfectly around Keith, clenching around his cock, his body shuddering as he rolls back. He’s so strong beneath Keith but Keith holds him up all the same, growling happily. 

And Shiro doesn’t seem surprised by the knot’s girth. There’s no acrid scent of pain as Keith’s knot plugs his hole. Instead, Shiro only arches, shuddering, and his breath goes shaky as he takes him. And he takes him so well, so perfectly. He clenches around Keith and Keith can only yowl out a deep, guttural sound. 

They breathe together after that. Keith, buried inside of Shiro, and Shiro, utterly filled. He’s plugged Shiro up entirely, no danger of come escaping now. They rock together, fully locked into place, and Keith nearly shudders with that knowledge, with the reality of what they’ve done together. 

He licks the back of Shiro’s neck. Shiro sighs, relaxing beneath him, made pliant by Keith’s croon. Keith drapes across his back, knowing that Shiro will hold him up. 

It’s nearly perfect. But Keith whines, nuzzling at the back of Shiro’s neck. He licks at the knobs of his spine, mouthing over his skin. He tastes him. He covers him in his scent.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks when Keith just keeps whining. His voice is threadbare, like he’s been well and truly fucked out. There’s a quiet undercurrent in his voice, the way he always tries to soothe Keith. 

“I want,” Keith pants. He swallows, forcing his mouth to speak words rather than primal noises. “I just wish I could see your face.” 

Shiro pauses and then he laughs, soft and honeyed. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world and Keith feels warm all over, from his head down to his toes. Shiro shifts and then hooks his hand around the back of Keith’s neck. Keith blinks as Shiro twists a little, craning his neck to look at Keith. His eyes are laughing, his smile brilliant. He’s blushing, but his scent is bright with amusement and warmed with affection. 

“You’re the one who put me in this position…” Shiro teases. “So you have only yourself to blame.”

Keith grumbles, unwilling to accept it. He nuzzles with a low growl. 

Shiro chuckles again, throaty and amused. “We’re a bit locked in for now, baby.” 

Something sings through Keith’s veins when Shiro calls him that. It twists tight in his gut and explodes outward, some sort of reassurance that despite everything, Shiro really is right here with him. He growls and shoves forward, cock twitching where it’s buried inside Shiro. He bites Shiro’s mouth with a possessive growl. 

Shiro can’t croon, can’t trill or purr or otherwise soothe verbally, but his sigh is the sweetest thing Keith’s ever heard. He kisses Keith back as best he can in their position, and Keith shivers for the feeling of Shiro’s fingers dragging through his hair. 

“Next time,” Shiro says into the kiss, punctuating the words with a soft smile. He lingers close enough that Keith can feel his breath ghosting against his kiss-moist mouth. “You can ride me, and then you can look at my face the whole time.” 

Keith makes a punched-out sound. _Next time._

“Y- yeah?” Keith asks.

Shiro just smiles wider. “I bet you’d look good on my cock, Keith.” 

Keith whimpers, pleased by the mere thought of it. He nuzzles at Shiro’s jaw, rocking his hips forward to push the knot in deeper. Shiro sighs, arching, and shudders beneath Keith. 

Keith feels the wide expanse of Shiro’s perfect back when he breathes deep, his chest swelling. He can feel how perfectly Shiro bears his weight with ease. Keith wraps his arms tight around Shiro’s torso, clinging tight, and wriggles his hips. He nudges, wishing he could go deeper, even when he’s already so deep, already made Shiro so full of his come. He wishes he could come inside him again and again, stuff him until he’s too full. 

The thought pulls a low growl of triumph from within his chest. He noses at the back of Shiro’s neck again, wanting nothing more than to bite down. He settles for licking Shiro’s skin instead, bathing him in his scent. 

“My knot,” Keith says. “Is it okay?”

“Feels good,” Shiro says with a sigh and he does sound blissed out. 

Keith preens, cooing happily. Keith spots Shiro’s pleased smile just before he buries his face down into the blankets. His ears are red. Keith bites one, a playful little nip that makes Shiro laugh. 

“I take care of you,” Keith says in a low murmur.

Shiro hums, sounding sleepy. “You always do, alpha.” 

The word still sounds clunky in Shiro’s mouth, like he’s unsure he’s using it right, but it still makes Keith shiver. 

Shiro shimmies a little, shifting beneath him as he attempts to get into a comfortable position. Keith helps him stretch out, still locked in on his cock. It makes for some awkward maneuvering, but Keith is stubborn when it comes to Shiro’s comfort.

It leaves Shiro stretched out on his belly, Keith draped across him and still locked into him by his knot. Shiro hardly seems to mind. Based only on his scent, Keith would guess that Shiro likes the feeling of Keith’s weight against him. 

“Also?” Shiro murmurs, slumped beneath Keith. 

“Yes?” 

“I love you, too,” Shiro says with a small smile, his eyes closed. He looks like a god, laid out in the nest Keith made for him, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, and his smile the sweetest Keith’s ever seen. 

Keith wasn’t prepared to hear such words, couldn’t have been prepared. As they settle past his rut-brain, all Keith can do is gasp. He feels a sting of relieved tears at the backs of his eyes, breaking through all other sensation. His heart twists in his chest, singing. It’s relief. It’s joy. 

It’s everything. 

“Y- you do?” Keith asks. 

Shiro smiles wider, humming. It’s a sweet look, somehow out of place in a nest thick with their arousal, but Shiro’s eyes are a warm grey when he opens them to look at Keith. He reaches out for Keith and pulls him down. He kisses him with the type of gentleness that makes Keith feel like he’s something precious, too. 

“Shiro,” he whispers and nothing more. He sinks into the kiss. 

-

Shiro drifts off like that, well and truly fucked out, and Keith doesn’t have the heart to pull out of him even once his knot goes down. He stays tucked up against Shiro, spooning him, his cock buried inside him. It’s a position Keith has no hardship maintaining, loving the feeling of enveloping Shiro as he deserves. He’ll guard their nest as his omega rests. 

All he wants to do is fuck into Shiro again. He wants to hear the sounds Shiro makes, wants to see the way he calls for Keith. But he can wait. He can be good, letting his mate rest until he’s ready for Keith again. 

As he waits, he feels some of the fuzziness brought on by the rut recede. It’s not gone entirely, but Keith feels more himself, can see the events of the evening thrown into sharp focus. He can’t recall from his talks with his mom if this is normal, if mating would help lessen it. 

He isn’t ashamed of what they’ve done, of course. He licks his dry lips, parched for water but unwilling to part from Shiro. He nuzzles the back of Shiro’s neck, content to stay here for as long as they need.

But the touch seems enough to rouse Shiro from his slumber. Shiro always was a light sleeper, after all. Keith watches on as Shiro shifts, grumbling absently until true awareness returns to him.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers when he shifts his hips and clenches, feeling Keith’s hardened cock buried inside him. “Well, hello.” 

“I can—” Keith shifts his hips back.

“No,” Shiro says and Keith stills at the command, helpless to resist anything his mate asks of him. “Stay. It feels good.” 

“My knot?”

“Mm,” Shiro hums, toes curling as he arches beneath Keith. He opens his eyes and smiles at him over his shoulder. “Although I’d like to see your face properly this time, maybe.” 

It’s an easy admission, and Keith’s grateful that there’s no shame that rolls off Shiro— only joy, his eyes soft in the early light of the morning. 

Keith moves with utmost care, squirming, unwilling to slip out from inside Shiro. He does end up pulling out a bit when Shiro rolls onto his back, and they both sigh at the loss. Shiro settles quickly back onto the pillows and spreads his legs, lifting his hips to his alpha, and that’s inviting, too. Every inch of Shiro smells like Keith, like their two scents intermingled, and it’s nearly overwhelming. 

“Fuck,” Keith breathes.

Shiro grins at him, his cheeks a rosy pink, and he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Keith crawls to him with a whimper, his hands ghosting up Shiro’s body. Shiro just laughs, fond and sweet, hitching his legs up to wrap loosely around Keith’s hips, his heels pressing into the small of his back. 

“Hi,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Keith feels himself blush, despite himself, unsure what it is about the greeting that threatens to undo him. He ducks his head, gripping his cock and stroking it. He doesn’t really need to, he’s already full hard, but it helps ground him somehow. 

Shiro seems amused by Keith’s sudden shyness. It’s the lightest birdsong within his scent. He presses his heels into the small of Keith’s back, coaxing him forward. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro says once he’s close enough, murmuring the words like a secret. Keith’s eyes flick up to look at him and Shiro’s smile is a gentle curve. He lifts his hand, stroking over Keith’s bicep. “Come here, baby.” 

And Keith goes to him, fisting his cock and smearing the head against Shiro’s hole. He plays with the mess he’s left, and Shiro sighs, closing his eyes and trembling through it. 

“You are _such_ a tease,” Shiro says and sounds delighted. He sounds wondering, like he’s filing it all away for the future. And maybe he is. 

Keith lets his cockhead sink in, shifting his hips so he tugs along Shiro’s rim. It makes Shiro shudder, his thighs shaking as he clenches around Keith’s hips. It’s easy, blissful even, to sink into Shiro again. For all his teasing, Keith can never resist Shiro for long. He never could.

They move together like that, although Shiro is less coordinated in this position, unable to command the shifting angles of his thrusts like before. They make do, and Shiro hardly seems to mind when Keith grips Shiro’s hips and guides him into the pace and angle he wants. Shiro moans out his encouragement, somehow louder than before, grinning up at Keith as they move. He seems content, even determined, to look into Keith’s eyes the entire time.

Keith tries to look away only once, feeling shy, and growls a low murmur when Shiro cups his chin to guide his eyes back up. “I want to look at you,” he says, thumb swiping across Keith’s lip. “My perfect alpha.” 

Keith doesn’t dare look away from him after that, lets Shiro see every flicker of pleasure and desire slide across his face. He lets Shiro see all of him, the way he’s always seen him, with that same gentle persistence— with love. 

Shiro had said it back. Keith can still hardly believe it, worried that he might have hallucinated it in his rut sickness. But Shiro holds tight to him, humming his praise, and closes his eyes only when he kisses Keith once, just as Keith comes inside him. 

They rock together, seeking that pleasure, until Shiro is stuffed too full, until Keith’s knot swells again and plugs him. It leaves Shiro shuddering, body thrown open by Keith. But he holds tight and doesn’t let go. 

Keith kisses him and kisses him, licking into Shiro’s mouth until Shiro groans and sucks on his tongue, whimpering as Keith’s hands ghost over him, touching him and sparking him to life, bringing him to another orgasm that robs him of his breath. 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers when he catches his breath, smiling up at him like Keith’s just gifted him the sun. He drops his legs open again, exhausted, and his arms flop down on either side of his head. “You wear me out, you know.” 

Keith’s fingers tangle in Shiro’s hair, petting absently. It’s still the softest thing he’s ever felt, overwhelmed with the gentleness of it even as he sits with his cock buried inside Shiro. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says after a moment.

Shiro gives him a perplexed look, humming a question. 

“You deserved more romance than this,” Keith mutters. The rut must truly be receding if he has the sense to be worried rather than hyper-focused on fucking Shiro into the mattress. Not that he isn’t very preoccupied with that. He hardly feels flagged in his stamina, after all. 

Shiro laughs. Keith shoots him a betrayed look and Shiro tries to temper the sound and does a damn bad job of it. He bites his lip, trying to muffle his smile, but it only serves to make him look more amused. 

“Sorry,” he says once the chuckles subside. “It’s just… that’s really sweet, Keith.” 

Keith growls low in his throat, shaking his head. “You deserve everything, Shiro.” 

Shiro strokes his hand over Keith’s flank, petting him. “I mean… Sure, maybe I thought— er, imagined something different for if— if we ever—” 

He stumbles to a stop, his face turning red. It seems Shiro’s just as easy to slip into shyness as Keith is, and somehow the thought delights him. 

Keith feels a possessive growl rise in his chest and he slumps closer before he even knows he’s doing it. Shiro’s expression softens and he reaches for him, pulling him down into his arms and nosing into his hair. They’re pressed chest to chest and it feels good. He can feel the rise and fall of Shiro’s breath, the steady pace of his heart as it slows. Keith closes his eyes as he feels Shiro take a deep breath, inhaling Keith’s scent. Humans can’t scent the way Galra do, but it makes Keith shiver all the same, going pliant in Shiro’s arms. 

“You thought about it?” Keith asks after a long moment of silence. 

“Of course,” Shiro says and laughs again, embarrassed. “I, uh. Well…”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Keith murmurs. 

“I’m not,” Shiro says. He pauses, humming in thought. “It’s just— wow, this is not how I thought our night would go.” 

Keith laughs, embarrassed again. He presses his face against Shiro’s neck and inhales sharply, relaxing further as he wraps himself in Shiro’s scent— spiced now, yes, and smelling like Keith. His neck and clavicle are covered in the marks Keith’s left on him. He licks one with a small smile and feels Shiro relax beneath him. 

In all the time he’s known Shiro, loved to be bathed in Shiro’s scent, he’s never once considered how good it’d be for Shiro to smell like _him._

He hoists himself up onto his hands so he can arch over Shiro, looking down at him. It leaves his hair spilling forward, framing his face. He must look wild above Shiro, but Shiro seems pleased to have Keith so near. 

“If you’re trying to sound disappointed, you’re doing a bad job,” Keith says.

“Good thing I wasn’t trying, then,” Shiro says, smiling. He lifts his hand, playing with the loose ends of Keith’s hair. “This was really good, Keith.” 

Keith preens, his smile likely outright smug. Shiro just looks delighted by it. 

“Mm,” Shiro hums, playing with Keith’s hair. “My good alpha. Nobody makes me feel as good as you—” 

The words punch through Keith and the rumble in his chest is loud, torn between purr and growl. That’s right. Nobody can make Shiro feel this way. Nobody else will ever get the chance. Their nest is woven with their scents. _Shiro_ is covered in his scent. There’ll never be anybody else. 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, blinking at him. “Your eyes—” 

“You’re _mine,_ ” Keith growls, the words punching out of him before he can swallow them back. He doesn’t know where it comes from, summoned out of him by some primal recognition of his mate covered in his own scent. 

Shiro goes utterly breathless. “Yeah…?” 

Just as quickly as the possessiveness swells, shyness crashes back through him. “Sorry,” Keith says, clearing his throat to force away the gravel. “I, uh, I don’t know where that came from—” 

But Shiro only smiles at him, shy and sweet but his scent coiling with the spice of his desire again. “I could be, though.” 

“Oh—”

“I think I already was yours,” Shiro says. “Always was.” 

The words are a sweet balm, washing over him like the gentlest cloak of stars on a warm summer night. Maybe that’s the way Shiro’s always made him feel— like a sky full of stars, endless and welcoming. Keith bites his lip, staring into Shiro’s eyes, and wonders at the way their night has gone: Shiro has always looked at him like this and now Keith has the new context for what it even means. 

“You love me,” Keith says in a murmur.

Shiro smiles at him, the softest edges of it, a smile just for Keith. “I do.” And then he laughs, cheeks turning a perfect rosy pink. “And I’m also stuck on your cock right now, so—”

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers, embarrassed. He ducks his head, biting at Shiro’s collarbone. 

“That’s— that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?” Shiro asks, clearing his throat. “Um. The Invitation, I mean. Going into rut.” 

Keith looks up at him, brow furrowing.

Shiro shrugs, laughing. “Uh. Just gathering it all from context clues. I’m right, right?” 

Keith nods jerkily and Shiro’s fingers sliding through his hair is a soothing gesture, easing away the embarrassment. He looks at him, uncertain. But Shiro’s expression is soft, almost delighted. 

“I’m your mate,” Shiro says, and he sounds both questioning and exhilarated. 

Keith nods again. He sees the relief swim in Shiro’s eyes, his expression going soft with love. It’s nearly overwhelming to know that’s what the look means, to know intimately the way Shiro’s scent changes. 

“Times like this,” Shiro says with a sigh. “I wish I still had that floating arm. I’d grab us those snacks and then we wouldn’t have to move. But… guess if we want to eat, we’ll do it the old fashioned way.”

“Are you hungry?” Keith asks, distressed. He needs to provide, that primal instinct rising in his chest: provide for his mate, take care of his mate, make his mate feel good.

“I will be soon,” Shiro says, assuaging Keith’s guilt. He strokes a hand up his side, petting absently over an old scar long-healed. “I can wait. This feels good.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Keith says in a low murmur. 

“You always make me feel good, Keith,” Shiro says with a smile. “You take care of me.” He tilts his head, studying Keith. “That’s the whole alpha thing, right? I got that part right?” 

Keith nods, blushing. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” Shiro says and smiles wider. “My good alpha.”

“Fuck,” Keith says as he whimpers, shuddering. Apparently, that really is a thing for him— and Shiro knows it, if that soft, reverential voice is any indication. 

Shiro lifts his hand, cupping Keith’s cheek. “You called me alpha, too. Am I one?” 

“I don’t think so,” Keith says with a frown. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact you aren’t either made my dumb rut brain get confused.” He leans into Shiro’s touch, his palm so wide. “I mean, I guess I’m an alpha, but I don’t always feel like one. Might be because I’m Human, too. Maybe I’m also kinda omega. I dunno.” 

“Hm,” Shiro says thoughtfully, considering. He strokes his thumb across Keith’s cheekbone, a gentle swipe that centers Keith and makes him feel boneless. Shiro’s touch tends to always make him feel relaxed. 

“Maybe I’m both, then,” Shiro says with a shrug. “I don’t mind being so.” 

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Keith says but he chuckles softly, leaning into Shiro’s hand with the quietest sigh. He purrs quietly when Shiro’s thumb shifts to brush across his bottom lip. 

Keith kisses the pad of his thumb before he can draw it away and it makes Shiro sigh. Keith can’t wait to catalogue every sound Shiro can make because of him. 

“I can be your omega,” Shiro says with a thoughtful hum. “Or your alpha, if you want. Just too bad I don’t have a knot for you, too.” 

Keith’s cock twitches at the thought. Unfortunately, his cock is also still buried inside Shiro and so he feels it.

It makes Shiro laugh. “Oh,” he says, soft like a coo. “You like that idea.” 

“Maybe,” Keith says, blushing, but can’t stop his stupid smile when Shiro chuckles again, honey-soft and blooming around his love-sweet scent. 

Shiro’s smile turns wicked for just a moment. There’s that familiar spark of stubbornness, a competition that Shiro’s prepared to win. “I can look into it. Maybe there’s a way I can make that happen.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says, shuddering at the mere thought of it. 

“Come here?” Shiro says, and Keith’s quick to follow the suggestion, ducking down to kiss Shiro sweetly. It’s easy to kiss him, to sink into Shiro like this. He could kiss Shiro forever. He wants to. He gets to. 

It’s the sweetest he’s ever felt, surrounded by Shiro’s perfect scent and delighted to be so. He sucks on Shiro’s bottom lip until he sighs, opening to him, and then the kiss turns dirty. Keith stays like that, pressed to him, and luxuriates in the feeling of it.

Even once his knot goes down, he stays curled up in Shiro’s arms, kissing him until neither of them can breathe, too distracted by their smiling mouths to do much of anything but that. It’s the lazy sort of kissing that feels like more breath than anything else and Keith loves it, loves that he gets to have this with Shiro.

“My mate,” Keith murmurs, the words sighing out of him. The rut still twists in his hindbrain, making itself known in such phrases. 

Shiro hardly seems to mind. He hums, kissing the corner of Keith’s mouth. “Yeah, alpha.” 

Keith shivers, brushing his hand down Shiro’s arm until he finds his hand. Just as he imagined, their fingers look good slotted together. Keith marvels at the simplicity of it, of how they look holding hands, their fingers laced. 

He spends a long moment simply looking. He can feel Shiro’s eyes on him, considering him, and he blushes. But when he turns to look at Shiro, his expression is entirely too gentle. He squeezes Keith’s hand and doesn’t let go. 

“Hey,” Shiro says. 

“Mm?”

“Will you come visit my parents now? If you’re my mate,” Shiro says. “I promise my mom won’t make anything with potatoes.”

Keith snorts, wanting to blush, wanting to say something scathing, but mostly it just makes him feel soft, his heart melting. He can only manage a nod, but it’s worth it to see the way Shiro’s face splits into a happy grin, how his scent blooms bright and startling in its sweetness. He tugs up Keith’s hand in his and glances a kiss off his knuckles. 

“Good,” Shiro says, hooking his other hand around the back of Keith’s neck and bringing him down. “It’s a date.”

Keith sighs into the kiss. The hand at the back of his neck is a perfect brand, even without the mark. That can come later, once they’ve caught their breath, once they aren’t so sore and lovesick. 

For now, he inhales gently, surrounded by their scents comingled, and delights in knowing that the only one with eyes on him, the only person he needs, is right here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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